USS ANUBIS - Mission 26
Personal Journeys
Personal Journeys
POST INDEX
| Post # | Character | Title |
| 001 | Morningstar | Personal Journeys Erik goes to speak with Drayk |
| 002 | Lopez | At What Cost Adriana watches over Christie and Cristhiane |
| 003 | Stark | Living Pain Jayson wakes up in Sickbay |
| 004 | Enel | Who's Your Daddy? Zub contemplates his future with Nathan |
| 005 | Bruxa | Engineered Balance Satella looks ahead to a renewed future |
| 006 | T'Lara | The Mathematics of Life T'Lara struggles to understand the device |
| 007 | Val'Bruxa | Not By Choice. By Design Drayk speaks with Maya |
| 008 | Lopez | Counselor's Cost Adriana goes to Sickbay, snaps at Amanda |
| 009 | Ya'Han | What Was Lost Ya'Han reflects on herself |
| 010 | Gemma | Forgotten Responsibility Gemma forgets about Nathan in her quarters |
| 011 | Enel | Billy Jean Zub sees Gemma's situation unfolding |
| 012 | Lopez | A Sisterly Discussion Christie confronts Amanda |
| 013 | Shar'El | Return to Normal? Shar'El runs into Gemma, speaks with Satella |
| 014 | Maya | Comparative Constants Maya speaks with Drayk and Satella |
| 015 | Bruxa | Something Old... Satella wanders into Sickbay |
| 016 | T'Lara | Dismissal into Uncertainty T'Lara releases her patients |
| 017 | Ya'Han | Silent Burdens Ya'Han is released from sickbay |
| 018 | Val'Bruxa | Perfection by Design Drayk gives in to Satella |
| 019 | Lopez | Beginnings of Something... Adriana checks in on others |
| 020 | Morningstar | Making Our Way Home Erik chats with Shar'El |
| Post # | Character | Title |
| 021 | Ya'Han | Battling Against... Ya'Han trains in the Holodeck |
| 022 | Stark | Alone Between Stars Jayson receives support |
| 023 | Gemma/Enel | Family Dinner Zub visits Gemma and Nathan |
| 024 | Bruxa/Val'Bruxa | Shared Path Satella and Drayk discuss purpose |
| 025 | T'Lara | Unbalanced Equations T'Lara is visited by Satella and Cristhiane |
| 026 | Shar'El | Meetings Shar'El visits multiple people |
| 027 | Enel | A Murmuration of Marines The Marines discuss the situation |
| 028 | Lopez/Morningstar | The Butterfly Effect Senior Staff meeting |
| 029 | Gemma | The Third Project Gemma confronts Erik |
| 030 | Val'Bruxa | The Third Project Designed Constants |
| 031 | Ya'Han | Shadows of Purpose Ya'Jun confronts Ya'Han |
| 032 | Stark | What Remains Jayson reassures Ya'Han |
| 033 | Lopez | End of Day Get Together A quiet four-way dinner |
| 034 | T'Lara | Unbalanced Equations Shar'El visits T'Lara |
| 035 | Gemma/Bruxa | Reflections of the... Opposing views on motherhood |
| 036 | Val'Bruxa | Morning Light Drayk makes breakfast for Satella |
| 037 | Ya'Han/Enel | Morning Distraction Ya'Han and Zub spar in the holodeck |
| 038 | Shar'El | Unexpected Signal, Part 1 New orders are received |
#######
"Personal Journeys"
Previous post: "Leaving Shadows Behind"
##########
"The longest journeys are not those we take through the stars, but those we face within ourselves."
— Ga-Rall Shea-Ri-Daar, Oltharian Book of Wisdom, Book 2
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Corridor -> Val'Bruxa's quarters
Stardate: 45014.2130
Captain Erik Morningstar stood before the door, hands clasped behind his back. The ship had settled into its night cycle, corridors quieter, footsteps fewer, the air holding the hush of weary officers finally off duty. He had chosen this hour deliberately, late enough that no one would take note of his presence, late enough that his visit would appear personal rather than official.
And in truth, part of it was.
The doors parted with a whisper, revealing the scene inside. Satella sat near the low table, a steaming cup of tea cradled in her hands. She looked up, her eyes bright with the familiar warmth that had once been thought lost forever. Her smile was soft, genuine, untouched by the weight of the days she had spent beyond the veil of death.
"Captain," she said gently, rising. "It is good to see you."
Erik's composure softened, just for a heartbeat. "It is good to see you, too, Doctor."
The relief was real, but so was the reason that had brought him here. His gaze shifted past her to where Drayk stood, arms folded, posture unbent. The man's presence radiated quiet defiance, not hostility or arrogance, but a simple certainty that required no apology.
"I did not come only to welcome Satella back," Erik began, his voice calm but edged with the steel of command. "We need to speak about what happened."
Drayk's eyes narrowed slightly. "You mean the choice I made."
"The unilateral choice," Erik corrected. "You acted without consultation, without consideration of consequence. That cannot be ignored."
"I did what I was made to do," Drayk replied, voice unshaken. "No committee. No hesitation. She lives because I acted. That is not a consequence: it is destiny fulfilled."
The silence between them was thick but controlled, like the pause before a blade met its mark. Erik stepped further into the room, his voice steady. "You are an officer aboard this ship. That means you answer to more than your own instincts. Trust and order are not luxuries aboard the ANUBIS: they are survival. Break either, and you endanger us all."
Drayk did not flinch. "Had I waited, debated, sought approval, she would still be gone. Survival is not secured by consensus. It is secured by those bred to act when others falter."
Before the words could sharpen further, Satella moved between them, her presence as gentle as the light she carried. "Please," she said softly, placing a hand on Erik's arm before turning to Drayk. "We all want the same thing: for this crew to endure, to heal, to stand together. What was done cannot be undone, but it can guide us. What matters now is where we go from here."
Her tone carried no reproach, no judgment, only kindness, but also the same determination that filled Drayk's every word. It was disarming in its simplicity, a reminder of why her loss had been so deeply felt, and why her return mattered more than any argument.
Erik exhaled slowly, his gaze softening as it lingered on her. She had returned unchanged, still the beacon of hope and care she had always been. Yet the conflict remained. He turned back to Drayk, voice low, final.
"Be certain of this. I will not overlook such actions again."
Drayk's reply was as unyielding as his stance. "Then be certain of this: I will act again. Not out of defiance, but because I was made to. Protocols, chains of command, ideals of order: they hesitate. I do not. When chaos comes, ask yourself: who is more likely to save them: the man who waits for permission, or the man forged to never fail?"
The two men locked eyes, neither bending, neither breaking. And then Erik nodded once, a gesture of closure rather than concession.
He turned back to Satella. "Rest well, Doctor. We will need your strength in the days to come."
She smiled, serene, radiant. "My strength is for all of you, as it has always been."
With that, Erik stepped into the corridor, the door sliding shut behind him. Alone once more, he walked the silent passageways of his ship, relief and unease warring quietly within him. Satella's return was a gift, but Drayk's defiance was a warning. Both would shape the journeys yet to come.
--==(/\)==--
Francois Charette
Captain Erik Morningstar
Commanding Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
--
"I used to think it was awful that life was so unfair. Then I thought, wouldn't it be much worse if life were fair and all the terrible things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them. So now I take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe."- Marcus Cole, Babylon 5
"At What Cost"
Previous Post: "Personal Journeys" by Francois
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Guest Quarter
Stardate: 45014.2300
The living room was a thin pool of light and a window full of motion. Stars smeared into long, patient lines as the ANUBIS cut through black, and Adriana sat very still on the couch, the upholstery indenting around her like the fit of an old uniform. She had not meant to be awake. She had meant to sleep, meant to let the exhaustion of days and nights that never seemed to end carry her off, but sleep refused to come. Instead she watched the stars, each bright trail hinting to an unanswered question.
Unable to settle, Adriana stood and quietly made her way to the bedroom to gaze upon her twin. Amanda breathed in slow, even rhythms. The sound was small and ordinary and, for the first time in decades, ordinary felt like a gift. Amanda slept the way children did on the colony: freely, as if the world could not possibly hurt her again. That sweetness was a new thing to Adriana; it looked uncanny on her twin. The peacefully resting woman had spent twenty years inside a Yautja Training Matrix where every sensation had been calibrated for survival. Now she slept with the soft bend of a child's shoulders and the slack of muscles that no longer needed to be reflex-ready. Adriana's chest both loosened and tightened at once.
Gratitude sat at the edge of that tightening: sharp and all so real. Cristhiane and Christie were in their quarters, alive and, according to T'Lara, cleared of the Lokustaar markers that had once made them strangers to themselves. The markers had been excised, and the instruments now registered their genome as “clean”. Adriana knew what those readings meant, what they did not. Scans measured sequences; they did not measure memory. They didn't measure the small, private betrayals a body could carry; they couldn't account for the way someone might wake in the middle of the night and not know which hand belonged to them.
Her circling thoughts carried her back to the couch. She had been a counselor long enough to catalog the difference. There were things she could fix: the insomnia triggered by recurring nightmares, the tremors that came without warning. There were things she could not fix: the hollowness left where identity had once sat, the slow erosion of self that happened when the scaffolding a person used to make sense of themselves was quietly removed. Healing, she knew, would be long. It would be careful. It would be patient. But it would also have costs.
Her fingers found the seam of the couch and traced it as if the act might stitch some kind of answer into the night. She had been a child of six when Amanda had been taken, a child who had promised a lot without ever understanding the price. She had vowed to find her sister, vowed it in the quiet way only a child can, with a fierce, unnuanced certainty, and then had spent nearly twenty years paying that vow in missing birthdays and promotions delayed and quiet nights on different ships, always listening for a signal, a mistake, any small thread that could be tugged until it unravelled. She had found Amanda. She had also found that rescue changed the rescuer as much as the rescued.
Thinking of Ya'Han and Ya'Jun felt like touching a fresh bruise. Twins, hidden by their own mother in an effort to protect them from the darkness; hair color shifted like language, a visible claim to lineage and right. Now those claims were gone. The genetic damage, what the Lokustaar had done to people, had altered more than hair. It had altered legacy, the right to belong to a story that had been told for generations. Ya'Han could no longer bend hair into proclamation; Ya'Jun's reflection, wherever she stood, would not answer the way it used to. They were still alive, technically. They lived and ate and breathed and spoke. But to their people, if their people were still the same, their titles meant less. Identity had legal and social weight. It also had gravity inside a human chest. Adriana’s mouth tightened as she watched a trail of white light pass by the viewport. Life carried on, but not always in ways that resembled what had been lost. Satella's return, Jayson's, each a miracle by any measure, still bore the shape of absence inside them. They were back, alive and breathing, yet something about the act of being torn away and stitched back left questions no tricorder could answer. Were they truly the same, or only shadows wearing the faces of the people she remembered?.
"Were we right to fight for this?" The question was small and rude and it surprised her because it flung itself up before she could dress it in duty. She had been raised to act first and weigh the cost after. The command had been clear: save who you can, stop the device, protect the ship. But the decisions that came after, who was stitched back together and what had been altered in the process, those were quieter, and the ledger of consequence was not kept in any officer's report.
She thought of Christie’s face when her mother embraced her, of the way Christie's eyes kept skittering to the corners of a room as if they expected the dark to answer. She thought of Amanda's laugh from not so long ago, easy, raw, almost guilty. It sounded like someone being handed back a fragment of life they thought lost forever. Adriana had waited twenty years for that sound, and yet she knew part of it belonged now to Christie, to a bond forged in shadows where she herself had never been. Gratitude braided with guilt until she could not tell the two apart. She had wanted this reunion for twenty years; she had wanted to hold her sister and know the small cadence of her breath and the shape of her protest when she was teased. Now she had it, and the presence of what they’d taken from others cut through that joy like a clean blade.
Adriana's training lived in her like a slow flame. She cataloged symptoms by touch: the way Amanda's left thumb twitched when the ship throttled; the way Cristhiane smiled too quickly when Christie looked away; the manner in which Ya'Han's silence had the weight of a strategy rather than an absence. She could prescribe rest, exposure therapy, a steady cadence of sessions. She could give them naming rituals and shared language to rebuild what had been erased. But she could not hand them back the years that had been shaped by fear, or the smell of the shadows in a brig cell. She could not return the small freedoms stolen in the quiet work of someone else's experiment.
Outside, the stars kept their slow, indifferent progression. Inside, the ship carried people whose internal orbits had been altered forever. Adriana had been trained to hold other people's pain; tonight she felt the strain of her own. There was a clean, professional part of her that wanted to rise, make lists, call T'Lara for an update on gene expression, and schedule family sessions. There was another part, older and more stubborn, that simply wanted to fold herself into the circle of light spilling from Amanda's door and let the two of them be ordinary for a while, watch old holovids, take an over-sweet replicated dessert, make mistakes in the small, human ways that could stitch them back to each other.
She did not move. She let the quiet sit with her, let it do what quiet does: sharpen edges and reveal what is honest. "The sisters are alive," she thought again, tasting the words. An impossibility made real. But even that statement was a half-truth if you considered the rest of it: the losses, the gains, the compromises. She was tired enough to know endings weren't neat.
Finally, because no one else was asking and someone had to, Adriana whispered into the room, more to the ship than to anyone in it. "At what cost?" The question did not demand an answer. It only needed to be spoken. The stars outside kept their slow, patient motion, and Amanda's breath rose and fell, faithful as a tide. For tonight, that small rhythm was enough.
-=-=-
Marissa Montonera-Lombardi
Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez
Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador
USS ANUBIS
"Living Pain"
Previous post: "At What Cost" by Marissa
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Sickbay
Stardate: 45015.0600
The first sensation was pain: not sharp, but lingering. An echo etched into nerves that should have been silent. Jayson Stark's chest burned as though the Lokustaar's claw still pinned him in place, suspending him in that endless instant of violation. He remembered it all... the tearing of muscle, the hollow shock as life drained from him, the collapse into Ya'Jun's arms, and the whisper of his final words for Ya'Han.
Yet now… he breathed.
Sickbay lights glared above him, sterile and steady. Monitors pulsed in calm rhythm to his heartbeat. He inhaled sharply, the instinctive panic of a man who had no right to still draw breath. His hands clawed at his chest, expecting ruin, blood, torn fabric, the gaping wound that had ended him. Instead, his fingers met smooth flesh. Whole. Unbroken.
"No… no, I felt it," he rasped, eyes wide, locked on the impossible. "I died."
A shadow fell across him, precise and composed. Doctor T'Lara stepped into view, a medical tricorder already in hand. Her tone carried no alarm, only clinical assurance.
"Your cardiopulmonary function is optimal," the woman said, defaulting to a more Vulcan approach despite logic being unable to account for what had taken place. "Neural activity indicates mild hyperstimulation, consistent with trauma memory. Physically, Lieutenant, you are restored."
Jayson stared at her, chest heaving. Restored? The word barely meant anything when the truth still throbbed through every nerve. He remembered. He would always remember.
His voice cracked, breaking through the haze. "Ya'Han. Where is she? Is she safe?"
T'Lara's brow rose a fraction, but her hands continued their steady work. "She remains under observation, as does her sister. Both are stable... and right next to you."
His head rolled to look the other way, his gaze quickly finding the target of his silent query. There she was, on the biobed beside his, alive, resting. Her chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, her eyes closed, black hair framing her face. The strands lay still, ordinary, lifeless. That alone told him something had changed. Something profound. She was no longer the Mistress of Shadows, nor the fiery Chief of Security he had once known.
He sagged back against the biobed as he gazed upon the Doctor once again, a trembling exhale leaving his lips. Relief washed over him, raw and unfiltered, eclipsing even the terror of his own return. He had given his life to protect Ya'Jun so she could save Ya'Han. That much, at least, had not been in vain.
But the memory was seared into him. The claw. The pain. The surrender. And then… nothing. No tunnel of light, no afterlife. Just the crushing certainty of an ending that had not endured.
"Doctor…" he forced the words past a dry throat. "How am I still here?" He hesitated, aware of how it sounded. "I don't mean to question your skill, but I know what I felt. I understood. I accepted."
T'Lara lowered her tricorder. Her expression was Vulcan stillness, tempered by Romulan pragmatism. "Medically, I cannot provide an explanation. Your body shows no residual cellular damage. No scarring. No indication of resuscitation. You are, by every measurable standard, alive and whole."
Her pause lingered, deliberate. "But I was present when the event occurred. What happened was not the result of medical intervention. Not mine. Not this crew's. The explanation lies elsewhere."
The device. Though she did not say the word, Jayson knew. His thoughts flashed unbidden to the artifact in the Quantum Physics Lab, the one tied so deeply to Ya'Han and her sister. Whatever force had dragged him back from the abyss, it had not been medicine, not logic. Something older. Stranger.
He pressed his palm to his chest again, half-expecting it to split open at the memory. The phantom agony was there, still screaming in his nerves, a wound that refused to be erased even if the flesh betrayed no sign of it.
Alive. He was alive. But the cost was written in his mind, and no healing could erase it.
His eyes closed for a moment, fighting the tremor in his voice. "Tell her… tell Ya'Han… that I'm here."
T'Lara inclined her head, the barest acknowledgment of a request she found illogical yet understood on some level.
Sickbay hummed softly around them, calm and clinical. But inside Jayson, shadows stirred. He had walked into death willingly, and somehow returned. For Ya'Han, he would do it again, no hesitation, no regret.
The pain reminded him of what had been lost. His love reminded him of why he still lived. And between those truths lay the shadow of someone he could not yet face. The woman lying beside him, yet separated from him by a universe of shadows.
=-=
Jayson Sousa
Lieutenant Jayson Stark
Chief of Operations
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
“Who's Your Daddy?”
Previous post: "Living Pain" by Jayson
=-=
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge
Stardate: 45015.0605
Zub Enel eased his 7-foot-tall frame back into his seat at the Tactical Station. He had been gripping the sides of the console so long that his elbows ached. None of his sensors showed any signs of pursuit from NYLAN IV, but the Lokustaar were effectively invisible unless they wanted to be seen. The constant tension for an ambush wore on him.
He crossed his aching arms over his chest and leaned back further in the seat. The ship was traveling at warp, so stars streaked by as colored lines on the main viewer. They seemed to radiate from a tiny black dot that never grew larger. Cloaked on all known frequencies, the ANUBIS moved invisibly, like a ghost among ghosts and other dark creatures in the heavens.
He thought about the enigmatic cube aboard. It had snuffed out 128,262 innocent lives, but then cleansed Lokustaar traces off the genomes of three people. It had restored to life two persons, one recently dead and another dead for much longer. The restoration didn’t seem perfect to Zub in its entirety, but the occurrences were truly miraculous from an object measuring one meter by one meter.
All that “restoration” seemed to have drained the object of any further cures. The boy, Nathan, for one, was still unconscious, recovering in real time from saving Gemma’s life by giving her back all the nanites she’d given him. This gift back to Gemma had cost the boy dearly. Zub wondered if the gift of life from the artifact also came with a hefty price that had yet to come due.
He’d heard Dr. T’Lara had asked Gemma to take responsibility for the boy because they shared nanites. Zub knew he too had some of Gemma’s nanites flowing through his veins. He wondered if this meant he also had a special responsibility to this brave but unconscious boy. He felt his heart flutter beneath his crossed arms.
He glanced at the sensor readouts on the Tactical station.
Out of the blue, he was struck by a vivid memory of himself as a child hiding in a kitchen cabinet from his 16 siblings.
To make space for himself, he dumped all the plates and bowls onto the floor. As usual, he and the mess he created were ignored. After all, it was his job to clean up messes. Sitting in the dark with his long, scaly legs tucked under his chin, he pouted. Tears burned behind his golden eyes, but he refused to let any fall. His father, a warp core specialist and perfectionist, always held back from promotion due to his disapproving nature; he truly did disapprove of everything. He especially disapproved of people feeling sorry for themselves.
Zub wanted to do what *he* wanted, but he couldn’t. At the Elkhiffa Hatchery, Farpoint Station, Deneb IV, Zub Enel was the first to hatch. Even though his 16 nestmates emerged the same day, and despite scientific proof to the contrary, his parents held Voth beliefs about the importance of birth order. They were stricter with him and held him to higher standards. As the oldest hatchling, his “job” was to take care of his siblings. But on that day, in his cabinet hideaway, he felt burdened with too many responsibilities; too many people relying on him. He must always help others. Always. And all that left no time for himself.
No time for a hoverboard. He didn’t remember when boards came to Farpoint Station, but he remembers noticing them as the riders slid and pivoted in midair and zipped frictionlessly over the streets, desert dunes, and fetid swamplands. Such effortless freedom and grace appealed deeply to him. Yet, he struggled between rescuing brothers from fights and protecting sisters from amorous males. He could never find time to get and use a hoverboard, so he put off buying one.
As he neared adolescence, during rare moments of freedom from his Eldest Brother (EB) responsibilities, Zub rented hoverboards to practice flying. Farpoint Station lay like a gray, metallic, city-sized snowflake stretched across the rugged, yellow hills of the planet, with streets radiating outward from the central spaceport. Discovering he was naturally athletic, he got skilled at staying on his board while dodging transports and personal vehicles by using the sides of buildings in maneuvers very much like surfing. He grinned the entire time he was surfing the city. His speed increased, and the complexity of his moves over buildings and vehicles grew. Eventually, he began to grow tired of city surfing.
Surfing beyond the force dome faced two challenges. There were dunes of foul, sulfurous powder kicked up in large, stinking clouds by the antigrav fields of the board. He crashed his rented board into many unseen dunes. Lastly, swamps were teeming with insects, including sweet sap eaters and gross carrion bugs. Swamps held the Denebrian slime devil—a creature whose cunning, ferocity, and reluctance to die made it a legend far beyond Deneb IV.
He delayed buying his own board until he was confident he could handle the terrain outside the station.
As he neared his sixteenth birthday, he had saved enough to buy a new hoverboard—the latest, a Gremmie 5200 with ShurStix grav grips for his ever-larger boots. He felt weightless with anticipation as he strode toward the sports replicator store. His sister Sha Mali caught up with him, her sides bulging with eggs. Mother had thrown her out. She looked hungry and needed money for a shelter to stay. She needed Zub’s help; help in the form of the sum Zub had saved for a board.
Zub Enel stood before his pregnant sister, torn between buying himself a Gremmie 5200 or giving her the first of what would likely be a continuous stream of “loans” until she found someone to care for her. Selflessness versus selfishness. Resignedly, he helped his sister and then returned home, sinking into the pavement.
In the couple of years that followed, Zub gave frequent loans to his sister and to a particularly irresponsible brother, Hak Rabi, who never seemed to have a permanent address and was often injured in fights. As other siblings came to him with their own problems, he realized he could never stop helping them until they were all dead.
Not that he wished them so, but they would honestly expect his help for many years to come. He worried that by then, he’d be too old to use a hoverboard.
Though he tried to help his siblings become independent of him, they remained needy. He stoically upheld his duties as the Eldest, but resentment of being needed by those too lazy to help themselves began to weigh on him. As he approached the minimum age to join Starfleet, Zub decided he should apply. Starfleet offered a noble reason to leave his siblings behind: he’d gain freedom and the ability to afford any hoverboard he wanted.
Zub Enel’s strict but now proud parents allowed him time to study for his Starfleet application. With time away, he happily began the challenging task of absorbing the extensive Starfleet preparatory curriculum necessary for admission to Starfleet Academy. During his limited free time, he would rent a board and, exhausted and bleary-eyed, practice navigating the powdery desert dunes and fetid swamps near Farpoint Station. Despite crashes and spills, he rode with pure joy.
Once, distracted by thinking about his studies while skimming over a large pond, Zub belatedly realized he had floated too close to a cluster of slime devil eggs. A crucial moment passed before he pivoted away from the danger. A red arm with long claws shot up from below and sank through his boot into his ankle.
The slime devil, a toothy, blind, one-meter sphere with four legs and claws, yanked at his leg, aiming to pull him under and drown him while tearing him apart. Zub’s rented ShurStix kept his boots welded to the board. His board skills allowed him to lift the snapping beast into the air, hanging from his bleeding ankle. With quick pivots, he repeatedly smacked its hideous head with the front and back edges until it let go.
Zub Enel scooted away from the attack with his mind still trying to catch up. He battled rising pain in his ankle while he compensated for the sudden loss of weight.
His rented board had dented edges on both front and back. Blood seeped from his perforated boot onto the polished surface. He knew he’d have to buy this bloodstained, broken board. Belatedly, his fear overtook him in a wave that made him jerk upright. Pride pushed aside his spikes of fear. Even though he was surprised by that toothy beast, he had reacted to the attack and defeated it.
Surfing toward medical help, he remembered wishing in a cabinet to do anything but Eldest Brother duties. Now on his way to join Starfleet, bloodied but triumphant, he caught a glimpse of what he had wished for.
Coming back to his chair on the bridge, he noticed the white tiger-like man at the helm, A’Janni, was staring at him with his one remaining eye. He gave Zub a stern look, forked two fingers toward his own furry face, and then pointed them at Zub, signaling to keep his eyes open and stay alert.
Zub pointed one finger at his own scaly face, then at the one-eyed tigerman. A’Janni smirked at him and turned back to his console.
Enel surveyed his Tactical station for any changes. Finding none, he wondered if he’d resent Gemma if she asked him to help care for Nathan until the boy got better. He had had enough of caring for dependents. Still, care should be more about Nathan than himself. He rubbed his pointed chin as he thought things through. He wasn’t at all sure of the answer.
=-=
David Michael Inverso
Lieutenant JG Zub Enel
MCO/ Acting Chief of Security/Tactical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
“You cannot escape the responsibility of tomorrow by evading it today.”
- A. Lincoln
"Engineered Balance"
Previous post: "Who's Your Daddy?" by David
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Quarters
Stardate: 45015.0610
The casket stood where it had been left, a silent, sterile monument to what should have been the end. Satella stood before it, barefoot, arms loose at her sides, her gaze tracing the smooth lines of the surface with a physician’s detachment. It was not grief that filled her, but curiosity. She remembered lying in there, remembered the absence of breath, of pulse, of everything. And yet her chest rose now with steady rhythm, her blood ran warm, her heart beat strong.
Drayk stepped out from the shower, still toweling his long silver hair, and found her there. His presence filled the room as it always did, not with words, but with certainty.
"I was dead," she said softly, not looking away from the casket. "My body lay silent inside, and yet here I stand. Breathing. Thinking. Questioning." She turned, her smile radiant, though touched with unease. "I can't explain it, not even as a doctor. I know you had a hand in this. You always do. But how do I face them, Drayk? The crew who mourned me, who saw me gone? How do I meet their eyes when I kept my secret from them all this time?"
He lowered the towel, his steel-blue eyes steady on her. "You live because the universe demanded it. I was only the instrument."
Satella tilted her head, studying him the way she had studied the casket. "And yet it was you. Always you. You bend the universe to your will, and I am alive because of it. Because of you."
For a long breath, silence filled the space between them. Then Drayk spoke, his voice quiet but carved with absolute conviction. "Without you, there is no balance. With you, I am whole."
Her lips parted, the smile returning, softer this time. She stepped into him, letting the towel slip from his hands as her fingers brushed against his chest. "Then we are as intended," she whispered. "Not by chance. Not by fate. By design."
Drayk’s hand closed around her waist, not gentle but absolute, as if anchoring a constant in an equation that could not be allowed to fail. His silence was not comfort but conviction, the wordless truth that she was his balance, calculated and necessary.
Satella leaned into him, not because he softened, but because he did not need to. In his inevitability, she found her strength.
She would face her shipmates, their questions, their confusion. She could already feel the weight of their eyes, the unspoken grief that would meet her before their words ever could. She would carry the burden of their trust betrayed by her silence, and she would answer them as best she could. But here, in this quiet moment, she knew one thing with certainty:
She was alive. And she was not alone.
=-=
Rachel Jackie Johnson
Lieutenant JG Satella Bruxa
Chief Medical Officer
USS ANUBIS
[Be careful about reading health books. You may die of a misprint. - Mark Twain]
"The Mathematics of Life"
Previous post: "Universal Design" by Scott
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Sickbay
Stardate: 45015.0700
Sickbay was quiet. The steady rhythm of monitors filled the room, their clinical tones confirming stability where certainty could not. Ya'Jun, Ya'Han, and Jayson lay under her watch, each resting, each alive. That should have been sufficient. Yet her mind did not quiet.
Logic urged her to consider the outcome as success: six individuals preserved. Two restored from death, four altered from shadowed affliction. It was, in measurable terms, an outcome worthy of celebration. And yet… the arithmetic resisted satisfaction.
The device, inert now, stripped of resonance, had enacted its own calculus. One hundred twenty-eight thousand, two hundred and fifty-two lives extinguished in an instant. From that immeasurable loss, it returned two who had fallen: Satella and Jayson. A miracle, others might call it. To her, it was an equation without balance.
And then the others. Four lives reshaped. Christie and Cristhiane, freed of the Lokustaar genetic coding that had defined them as aberrant. By every scan, their genomes now read as "clean." Yet experience had no sequence. Identity had already been written by what they endured. To be altered so deeply left scars no tricorder could record.
Ya'Jun and Ya'Han, Nylaan by birthright, bore the greatest cultural wound. The shifting of hair that marked legacy, standing, and self was lost to them. They were still strong, still breathing, but among their people they would be regarded as commoners, reduced, diminished, stripped of what their heritage had once declared immutable. To others, this might appear trivial. To a Nylaan, it was an erasure of their self-identity.
Two restored, four altered. Against 128,252 lost. The numbers aligned, but not the meaning.
Her Vulcan discipline whispered acceptance: outcomes are measurable, equilibrium is preserved. But her Romulan blood carried suspicion: no device alters so profoundly without cost. What unseen consequence had yet to surface? What had been traded beyond their ability to quantify?
As a physician, she should rejoice. Six lives spared or reshaped for survival. As a pragmatist, she could not ignore the fracture beneath. Jayson and Satella would live, but each carried the shadow of death remembered. Christie and Cristhiane were whole, but would never entirely trust the reflection staring back at them. Ya'Jun and Ya'Han still drew breath, but their people would no longer acknowledge them for who they had been raised to be.
Survival was not the end of the equation. It was the beginning of an aftermath that none of them yet understood.
T'Lara's gaze moved from one monitor to the next, her hands folded behind her back, posture rigid against the weight of thought. The device was silent, but its imprint remained in every patient here. She would record their progress, analyze the data, offer treatment where she could. Yet she knew the true challenge lay not in cells and sequences, but in the unseen costs of what had been restored.
The crew believed themselves saved. Perhaps they were. Or perhaps, like the device itself, they were only dormant, awaiting the day when the balance demanded its full price.
=-=
Dawn Bohr
Lt. Commander T'Lara
Chief Medical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Not By Choice. By Design"
Previous post: "The Mathematics of Life" by Hanali and Dawn
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 12, Quantum Physics Lab
Stardate: 45015.0700
The device sat on the containment cradle like a relic pulled from myth, its facets dull and unyielding. Black. Silent. A perfect refusal of inquiry. A day earlier it had burned with hidden mathematics, but now it offered only stillness, as if mocking Maya's relentless pursuit.
She stood at the console, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the wash of data that amounted to nothing. Every scan, every probe, every carefully constructed model returned the same answer: null. To her, it was infuriating. To Drayk, it was expected.
He stood near the containment field, silver hair catching the sterile light, arms folded behind him in the posture of a man who did not need to move to dominate a space. His gaze lingered on the black cube, but his thoughts traced elsewhere: to the quarters he had left less than an hour ago, to the rise and fall of Satella's breath, the heat of her hand against him, the balance restored.
Others would call it defiance, theft, sin. He called it correction. Without her, the design of his life, his purpose, his lineage, had been broken. With her, the equation balanced again. No apology was owed; none would ever be given.
Maya exhaled sharply. "It resists everything. No energy emissions, no resonance signatures, no thermal fluctuation. Nothing." Her voice was measured, but frustration leaked through.
Drayk's eyes narrowed slightly. "You are attempting to force truth from silence. That is inefficient."
She glanced back at him, her patience frayed. "And what would you suggest? That we do nothing?"
He tilted his head, not with curiosity but with the cold calculus of a predator weighing whether pursuit was worth the effort.
"I suggest you accept what is constant. The device answers to design, not desperation. You treat it as an enemy to be conquered. It is not. It is law made manifest. Laws are not begged for answers. They are exploited."
A faint, momentary smile touched his lips as he recalled the gleam of her silver hair and the softness of her cheek beneath his fingers, proof not of sentiment, but of a calculation fulfilled.
Maya's brow furrowed, but she did not argue. She returned to her scans, though her shoulders held the stiffness of one resisting his certainty.
Drayk let his attention drift back to the cube, though his mind remained with Satella. She had asked him how she could face them, the crew who had mourned her, buried her in memory, only to see her walk among them again. She sought answers, reconciliation, peace.
He did not.
They would see her, living. That was enough. Truth did not require their consent. Balance did not beg forgiveness. He had recalculated the universe, and the proof of his calculation now breathed, warm and whole, beside him once more.
"Doctor Bruxa lives," he said at last, his voice low, edged like steel ground on stone. "The device served its function. That is all the proof required."
Maya turned toward him. "Proof of what?"
His eyes met hers, unblinking, unbending. "That inevitabilities cannot be denied."
The lab fell silent again, save for the empty buzz of machinery chasing shadows across the surface of an unyielding black cube. To Maya, it was an enigma yet unsolved. To Drayk, it was already solved, not in equations or energy signatures, but in the steady rhythm of Satella's heart.
He remembered the warmth of her breath against his chest less than an hour ago, the immutable cadence of life where there had once been silence. That was the equation balanced, the law upheld.
He had bent the universe, and it had obeyed.
=-=
Scott Grant
Lieutenant JG Drayk Val'Bruxa
Assistant Chief Engineer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"The outcome was decided before the first move was made."
"Counselor's Cost"
Previous Post: "Not By Choice. By Design" by Scott
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Sickbay
Stardate: 45015.0710
Adriana stepped into Sickbay with Amanda close at her side, as always. The room felt still, clinical, orderly. Monitors hummed softly, their steady tones declaring stability where none of the faces lying on the biobeds could feel it. T'Lara stood near the center of the ward, hands folded behind her back, every line of her posture controlled. This was her domain, a sanctuary of logic and discipline.
Adriana, by contrast, carried fatigue on her shoulders like a visible weight. She had not slept, her eyes burned, and the ache of too many thoughts followed her inside. She reminded herself to stand straighter, to mask it, but even that small effort felt hollow.
"You are early," T'Lara observed, her tone calm but not unkind. Her gaze moved briefly toward Amanda, then back to Adriana. "They are stable. Vital signs are consistent. Physically, there has been no decline."
Adriana nodded, stepping closer to the beds. She let her eyes move from one patient to the next, cataloguing details the way she had been trained. Ya'Jun's breathing was even, but her hair lay still against her shoulders, colorless and ordinary. Ya'Han's was the same. For most, it might look unremarkable, but Adriana knew enough of their story to see the loss. Their hair had been more than strands of color. It had been a language, a declaration of self. Now silence pressed down on them in its absence.
Her thoughts pulled tighter. This was not only a cultural wound. It was personal. The inability to change meant the inability to outwardly express, to tell the world in a single shift of color who they were, what they felt, what they stood for. That freedom had been stripped away, and Adriana knew that kind of erasure left scars deeper than any wound.
She let her gaze slide to Jayson. He looked whole, his chest rising and falling without strain, but his expression carried something hollow. Hours had passed since Satella's return and already the doctor had walked freely through the ship, her spirit seemingly unbroken. Jayson, though, lay quiet and uncertain, his strength not yet found. Adriana's thoughts turned to the difference. Satella had Drayk, a love as fierce as it was consuming. Jayson had Ya'Han, and in those final moments before his death she had been cold, inhuman, shutting him out even as he reached for her. Love could be the fire that carried someone back to life, but it could just as easily be the void that left them wandering.
"You appear fatigued," T'Lara said, her eyes sharp. "You should consider rest."
Adriana almost laughed at the simplicity of it. Rest. As if rest would silence the questions in her head, as if sleep would not drag her back into dreams that twisted into nightmares. "I'll manage," she said, voice even but thin.
Before more could be said, Amanda let out a small, sharp sigh. She had been standing with her arms folded, her weight shifting restlessly from one foot to the other, her impatience growing. "Why are we even here? You said we would go check on Christie. You promised, Adriana."
The words landed heavy, not because of their volume but because of their tone. Petulant, childish, and loud enough that every ear in Sickbay heard. Adriana froze for a heartbeat, her professional calm cracking under the sound of her sister's accusation. Amanda's arms stayed crossed, her expression stubborn, the same look she had worn when they were children and their mother told them they could not have another sweet after dinner. Except this was not a child in a kitchen. This was Sickbay, with Ya'Han, Ya'Jun, and Jayson lying nearby, with T'Lara watching in silence.
"Amanda, not now," Adriana snapped before she could stop herself. Her voice was sharper than intended, carrying frustration that had been building for days. She had expected her sister to be her anchor, the one constant she could lean on after twenty years of searching. Instead Amanda felt like another patient, another fragile soul to protect, another demand she could not meet.
Amanda's face flushed with anger, but she stayed silent, turning her gaze away in a defiant refusal to meet Adriana's eyes. The silence that followed was louder than any monitor.
T'Lara tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "Even counselors require counsel, Lieutenant," she said quietly. It was not criticism, not pity, only observation.
Adriana drew in a breath, trying to steady herself. She turned her gaze back to the patients, back to the stillness of Ya'Han's hair, to the uncertainty in Jayson's face. She told herself that her focus belonged here, on them, on their healing. That was her role. That was her duty. But the ache in her chest refused to be dismissed.
She had waited twenty years to find her sister, and now that Amanda stood beside her, she felt more alone than she ever had. Professional dread pressed down on her as she considered the battles each of these patients would face, battles she would be the one to guide them through. Personal ache twisted deeper as she realized she no longer had the support she once thought she would find in Amanda.
Her thoughts echoed back to the question she had whispered the night before. 'At what cost?' The answer did not come, but the weight of it filled her all the same. And this time, she feared the cost might be her own.
-=-=-
Marissa Montonera-Lombardi {mmlm12121112@gmail.com}
Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez
Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador
USS ANUBIS
"What Was Lost"
Previous post: "Counselor's Cost" by Marissa
-=-=-
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Sickbay
Stardate: 45015.0730
She felt empty, more so than when the darkness filled her soul. At least then, the shadows had given her a purpose, twisted though it had been. Now there was nothing. No mother to guide her, no heritage to claim, no respect from her shipmates, and perhaps not even the love of the man who had once declared his endless devotion with his dying breath.
Ya'Han lay still on the biobed, her black hair spread across the pillow like a shroud. To her left, Jayson. His chest rose and fell with a fragile rhythm, each breath a miracle she could not bring herself to believe in. To her right, Ya'Jun. Her twin was silent, sharing the same loss, the same fracture of family. And somewhere in the room, T'Lara moved with quiet efficiency, checking readings, adjusting monitors, offering no words.
Her thoughts turned to her mother. Na'Rin had been the reason she and Ya'Jun became avatars of shadow and light. Anger should have filled her veins at that truth, but instead there was only hollowness. Her mother had been lost to her long before her final breath, taken by forces beyond her control, by choices made in the name of destiny. Now the family was broken, as broken as she herself had become.
She closed her eyes, and memories flickered unbidden. She saw herself again as a young princess, hair glowing purple as she learned what each shade meant. White for healing. Green for art. Red for war. Blue for knowledge. Each earned with discipline and sacrifice. Now every color was gone, leaving her with nothing but black.
Among her people, black hair was a mark of nothingness, a reminder that the individual bore no skill, no worth, no legacy. Commoners spent their lives dreaming of another shade. For Ya'Han, the irony cut deeper than any blade. She had been born to the highest station, earned the right to shift between colors, and still ended as a nobody in the eyes of her people. Not a fallen royal, not even a disgraced warrior. A void, defined only by what she was not.
Her gaze drifted to Jayson. Guilt stabbed sharper than grief. He had died because of her. He had returned because of the device, the so-called tool of destruction that had been revealed to be a tool of balance. She did not understand how it worked, nor did she want to. What mattered was that his presence, his life, was a constant reminder of what she had done. He had died because of her, and yet lived because of her. That paradox was the cruelest truth of all.
She turned her head toward Ya'Jun. Her twin had lost as much, perhaps more, yet carried herself with the steadiness of one who had never wavered. What had been taken from Ya'Han, her twin had willingly sacrificed. Together they had been destined to balance light and shadow, yet Ya'Han had tipped the scales, first as a traitor to her family, then as a traitor to her ship, and finally as a traitor to herself.
The uniform she wore mocked her. Without red hair she could no longer claim the mantle of warrior, could no longer believe herself worthy of Starfleet’s trust. She was nothing more than a black-haired commoner in an officer's clothing, an imposter cared for on this bed by people she had betrayed, used, and nearly destroyed in her pursuit of a false crown as Mistress of Shadows.
She tried to imagine what her crewmates saw when they looked at her. No longer the fiery Chief of Security who had earned their respect. Only a hollow figure who had surrendered herself to the Lokustaar and nearly doomed them all. Her own reflection was no kinder. She saw only a woman who had failed in every role given to her: daughter, warrior, officer, and mate.
Her eyes lingered on Jayson once more. His face was pale, but he breathed. That breath was a miracle, but not hers to claim. Not anymore.
She closed her eyes again, letting that single truth settle in her soul. She was lost -- to her family, to her ship, and to the man beside her. But most of all, she was lost to herself.
-=-=-
Hanali Han
Lieutenant Ya'Han
Chief of Security / Tactical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Forgotten Responsibility"
Previous post: "What Was Lost" by Hanali
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck A-4, IGC
Stardate: 45015.0800
Gemma had fallen back into her rhythm with the same precision as the ship's warp core. Up before most of the crew, she was already deep in the Intel Gathering Center, reviewing patrol movements, intercept chatter, and the subtle hints of shadow traffic that suggested cloaked Lokustaar ships were still in the area.
The ANUBIS sailed under the shroud of its ablative cloaking armor, with A'Janni at the helm inserting his own brand of paranoia into the course plot: never straight, always unpredictable, as if the ship itself feared being caught. Gemma respected it. It kept them alive.
She skimmed through tactical updates with a detached efficiency: Ferengi patrol movements, civilian freighter routes, scattered sensor ghosts. Nothing unusual enough to cause alarm. Nothing she couldn't anticipate. She was already preparing her second report when an unexpected alert slipped across her console.
Internal Security Log: Movement detected — Deck 2, Quarters 212.
Gemma reviewed the location several times before accepting that the security alert had come from her quarters.
The ILO's focus sharpened instantly. The report fed her details with cold precision: one lifeform detected, humanoid, male, approximately twelve years of age. Bio-readings matched a healthy Terran baseline.
For a full heartbeat, Gemma stared. A dozen scenarios spun through her head: breach, infiltration, shapeshifter incursion. Her hand hovered over the comm, ready to summon Zub and a full security detail before the truth crashed into her with humiliating force.
Nathan.
The boy wasn't an intruder. He wasn't a spy. He was a patient, her patient, if T'Lara's request had meant anything. She had agreed to house him temporarily, freeing Sickbay of one more bed. And in the flood of duties, reports, and shadows lurking at the edge of Federation space, she had managed to forget entirely that a boy was sleeping on her couch.
"Mother of the year?" Finnja chuckled, the Dinaali nurse finding this far too amusing for anyone else's liking.
"Beaten by a twelve-year-old boy," Anya sighed, her thick Russian accent only adding to the sad realization that had come to be.
"Damn it," Gemma muttered under her breath, already rising from her chair. The console chirped for her next tactical update, but she ignored it. For once, the galaxy could wait.
"Well, at least you didn't follow through with the whole ‘booby-trap the quarters’ idea," Jinx quipped, dark humor dripping as if Nathan's survival somehow counted as vindication.
=-=
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 2, Corridor -> Quarters
Stardate: 45015.0805
She moved quickly through the corridors, her steps sharp enough to make passing officers stand a little straighter. To anyone watching, it might have looked like she was on her way to neutralize a threat, which, in a way, she was. Just not the kind she was trained for. Her mind cycled through the irony: master of a dozen aliases, handler of covert operations across half the quadrant, feared and whispered about as the "Deadly Spider", and yet she had left a child unattended in her own quarters like forgotten luggage.
"This was certainly not on your top ten things that might happen today," Ema Fairchild, the Oltharian Warrior Priestess teased.
"Not in the top one hundred," Gabrielle corrected, a hint of amusement in her tone.
When the door came into view, Gwenvel offered some wisdom. "Slow down. Nathan is not an adversary. He is a child who has been placed in your care. It was your omission... your fault, not his."
When the doors parted, she braced herself for some disaster. Instead, she found Nathan sitting cross-legged on the floor of her living room, playing with a datapad someone had given him. He looked up, wide-eyed, more curious than afraid.
"You're awake," Gemma said, voice clipped but softer than her usual steel.
Nathan shrugged, the casualness of youth in the gesture. "You weren't here."
The words hit harder than any Lokustaar ambush could. Gemma exhaled slowly, pulling herself back into the moment. She was an Intel operative, yes. She was also, apparently, responsible for keeping one very real, very human boy safe.
"Right," she said at last, lowering herself to his level. "I wasn't. But I am now."
The datapad beeped in his hand, some simple game flashing across its screen. Nathan smiled, and for the first time that day, Gemma allowed herself the smallest, most reluctant smile in return.
The galaxy's shadows could wait. She had another responsibility to take care of.
=-=
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
“Billy Jean”
Previous post: "Forgotten Responsibility" by Rachel
=-=
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge
Stardate: 45015.0810
Zub Enel was filling in at the Tactical Station on the bridge for Ya’Han while she recovered, if she ever did. A light on the console signaled a possible intrusion on Deck 2, Quarters 212. The scales on the back of his neck stood up. That was the location of Gemma’s quarters! He knew she was in the IGC.
As one of Starfleet's top intelligence officers, she had effectively blocked any way to see into her quarters, but he kept tapping controls until he brought up a viewer in the corridor that her quarters opened to. He watched Gemma’s svelte figure, coppery curls swaying, heading purposefully toward her door. He relaxed. Whatever it was, she was more than capable of handling it.
Belatedly, he realized that Nathan was in her rooms, sleeping as always. She had taken him out of Sickbay at Dr. T’Lara’s request to free up a biobed. The intruder alert was triggered by movement. He guessed Nathan must have woken up.
A peculiar mix of relief and anxiety jolted him. The boy had finally gained consciousness, and that meant a boy Enel hardly knew was now awake.
Zub wondered what this change might mean for Gemma and himself. Gemma had agreed to take him in, but while unconscious, he required little upkeep, like a plant or a tribble. Now, if the boy was awake and like any normal kid, what was he supposed to do during the day when Gemma was on duty? Zub Enel's duty shifts often overlapped with Gemma's. The boy could be unattended for hours. Regardless of what the boy did during the day, would he stay at Gemma’s quarters at night? Zub had agreed to help Gemma look after the boy. Should Zub offer his quarters to give Gemma a break?
Zub folded his three-fingered hands in front of his face. His quarters were tidy, reflecting both his discipline and his long childhood of cleaning up after 16 siblings. It looked like no one lived there. He worried that, all of a sudden, he might become picky about ‘messes’ Nathan made just by living there.
And what would Nathan do while Zub and Gemma were on duty? The boy was bright, self-possessed, and energetic. Enel imagined a visit from the Chief Engineer, a silver-haired Mikulak with a pained expression on his severely calculated face. “Your kid just shut down half the heat exchangers on the port nascelle."
“The kid is not my son.” (1)
Zub smiled as he remembered finding Gemma in Sickbay, sitting beside the sleeping boy with her high-level spy persona down, just a woman peacefully watching over him. Zub had sensed a tenderness there that he liked but rarely saw. By taking responsibility for the boy’s well-being, he wondered if Gemma could let her work mask down more often. He questioned whether that was healthy for someone designed to infiltrate, attack, and vanish quickly when necessary.
What would Nathan do when he discovered she was a kaleidoscope of different people? That Gemma was a hub around which all these other personas revolved, some of them so dangerous that Zub was afraid to kiss Gemma, only to have Anya, the Russian assassin, smile sensuously while she stabbed him through the ribs.
Zub covered the front of his head crest with cold hands. An unconscious kid is one thing, a blank slate to paint romantic and paternal fantasies on. A real, live kid is something else. Nathan has already shown himself to be willful, brave, deadly, and self-sacrificing. What would it be like to 'handle' him?
A strangely singsong, deep, feline voice came from the Helm.
“There's Klingons on the starboard bow.
Starboard bow.
Starboard bow.” (2)
Zub looked through his wrists at A’Janni, a white-tiger of a man and Flight Control Officer who was glaring at him. A’Janni had warned Zub once before to pay attention to the Tactical console while on duty on the bridge. Another lapse, and A’Jnni might bring Zub’s attention back to the present by a solid smack in the nose.
Enel dropped his hands to the sides of the console. “On it. Thanks.”
=-=
David Michael Inverso
Lieutenant JG Zub Enel
MCO
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
“Culture is just a shambling zombie that repeats what it did in life; bits of it drop off, and it doesn't appear to notice.”
- Alan Moore
"A Sisterly Discussion"
Previous Post: "Billy Jean" by David
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Guest Quarter
Stardate: 45015.0830
As promised to her sister, the Lopez sisters had gone to visit Christie and Cristhiane, Adriana using the professional excuse of making sure the mother and daughter were all right following the removal of the Lokustaar genetic markers.
The moment they had stepped through the door, Amanda had rushed forward and thrown her arms around Christie. Adriana had stood still, watching the embrace, telling herself that it was only natural. The two girls had shared years together in the Matrix, bound by survival in ways no outsider could understand. Still, as Amanda clung to Christie, it had been difficult for Adriana to ignore the sharp sting beneath her ribs. She had spent more than twenty years chasing shadows, holding onto hope, and the instant she found her sister, Amanda seemed to slip away into someone else's arms.
Adriana hid it well, at least she thought so, but Cristhiane's glance had caught her, a mother's knowing eyes seeing the pain she tried to bury. To give herself something to do, Adriana settled into polite conversation with the older woman. She asked about rest, about recovery, about how they were adjusting after the removal of the genetic markers.
Meanwhile, Christie gently took Amanda's hand. "Come, let's talk," she said softly, guiding her toward the far side of the room.
Amanda went without question, her steps light, eyes shining with the eagerness of someone who had found safety in another. But when Christie stopped and turned to face her, the warmth in Amanda's expression faltered.
"You look serious," Amanda said, suddenly uncertain. "Did I… do something wrong? Do you not want me here?"
Christie shook her head. "No, Amanda. That's not it at all." Her voice carried none of judgment, only warmth. "I just need to tell you something important. Something about me."
Amanda tilted her head. "About you?"
Christie drew a breath. "I had a twin sister. Her name was Ashley." The words trembled as they left her, as if even speaking the name threatened to break her. "I didn't even know she existed until yesterday. The Tal'Shiar made sure of that… maybe even the Lokustaar. And now I'll never know her. She was taken from me before I ever had the chance to see her face or hear her voice." Her hand tightened around Amanda's. "That emptiness... that voice in my heart... it's never going to be filled."
Amanda blinked, startled, her lips parting as though to offer comfort but no words came.
Christie pressed on, her eyes steady. "You and Adriana are twins. She searched for you her whole life. She carried the emptiness every single day. And now, when you're finally back together, you're doing the same thing to her that was done to me. You're making her live with that emptiness all over again."
Amanda frowned, confusion and guilt warring on her face. "But… Adriana's strong. She doesn't need me the same way you do. She has Starfleet, she has friends. You only have me." Her voice cracked. "I thought I was helping. The same way you helped me back in the Matrix."
Christie's expression softened, but she didn't let go. "That's how the Matrix trained us to think. Feelings didn't matter there, only survival did. But this isn't the Matrix, Amanda. Here, feelings matter more than anything. They're what make us human. Adriana isn't unbreakable. Every time you turn away from her, every time you hold me tighter instead, you're cutting her open a little more."
Instinctively, Amanda glanced back across the room. Adriana sat with Cristhiane, smiling politely at something the woman had said. The smile didn't reach her eyes. There was a tension in her shoulders, a hollowness in her gaze that Amanda had missed until Christie forced her to look.
Christie whispered, "That’'s the face of someone hiding twenty years of heartbreak. And you're the one putting it back there."
Amanda's throat worked, but no sound came. Her fingers trembled in Christie’'s grasp. She shook her head once, twice, as if trying to deny it, but the image of Adriana's brittle smile burned against her thoughts.
"I don't want to hurt her," Amanda finally whispered.
"I know," Christie said gently. "And you don't have to. You can't give her back the years she lost, Amanda. But you can give her yourself... now. Don't make her lose you again."
Amanda lowered her gaze, shaken. The words didn't all make sense, not yet, not fully. But they echoed inside her, heavy and unavoidable, as she stole one more glance at her twin.
Adriana laughed softly at something Cristhiane said, the sound brittle at the edges. And for the first time, Amanda realized that maybe her sister wasn't as unbreakable as she had always seemed.
-=-=-
Marissa Montonera-Lombardi
Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez
Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador
USS ANUBIS
"Return to Normal?"
Previous post: "A Sisterly Discussion" by Marissa
-=-=-
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Corridor
Stardate: 45015.0900
The corridors of the ANUBIS felt deceptively calm. Officers moved about their routines, voices low, the rhythm of duty slowly reasserting itself after chaos. To anyone watching, life aboard the ship looked like it was returning to normal.
For obvious reasons, Shar'El did not believe in normal.
Shar'El knew too well how fragile such illusions were. Sickbay still held the wounded heart of their ordeal: Ya'Han and Ya'Jun lay side by side, stripped of their heritage, their black hair a cruel reminder of loss. Jayson Stark and Satella Bruxa walked among the living again, yet their return stirred unease. The Engine of Balance had restored them, but what unseen cost still waited to be claimed?
Shar'El slowed her steps, letting the silence of the corridor wash over her. Balance. That word again. Ya'Jun had spoken of it as if it were a law of the universe, an unavoidable constant. If that was true, then joy never came without sorrow. Gains never arrived without loss. If two lives had been returned, then somewhere, somehow, a price was still waiting to be paid. Maybe the 128,252 lives lost on NOVOSYTH had been payment enough for this balance. She could not say when, or how, but she felt it in her bones. Shadows always found their way back.
Her thoughts fractured as a figure cut across her path. Gemma emerged from a side corridor, her pace sharp, her voice even sharper.
"We have a problem," the ILO announced.
Shar'El straightened, instincts on alert. A problem, coming from Gemma, was never small. "What kind of problem?" she asked, her tone cool, already preparing for tactical reports, Lokustaar incursions, or some other crisis that would shatter their fragile quiet.
Gemma hesitated, just long enough to make the pause suspicious. "Nathan."
Shar'El blinked. Of all the names she expected to hear, the boy's was the last. "Nathan?"
"Placed in my care," Gemma clarified, her words clipped as if speaking them aloud was already an admission of failure. "It is not working out."
Shar'El arched an eyebrow, her lips tugging into the faintest smile. "Not working out? What kind of issues could a young boy present that the hyper-versatile ILO of the ANUBIS cannot handle?"
For a long second, Gemma said nothing. Then she offered a single word. "Motherhood."
Shar'El held her breath for a measurable moment, almost amused. She studied the other woman, the master of shadows and secrets, the so-called Deadly Spider of countless covert operations, standing in the corridor and declaring herself undone by the simple presence of a child. Amusement flickered in Shar'El's eyes, though she kept her expression controlled.
"I see," she said slowly. "The ANUBIS was never meant to house families, much less children. I will look into possible solutions."
Gemma gave a curt nod, as though grateful but unwilling to linger. She disappeared back into the currents of the ship as quickly as she had come, leaving Shar'El to resume her walk, now tempered by a different weight. She had not considered Nathan before, not beyond his survival. Yet the boy was here, real and present, and the ship was no place for him. Another balance waiting to tip.
-=-=-
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Corridor -> Quarters
Stardate: 45015.0920
Shar'El's travels brought her to quarters she had not visited since the chaos had ended. She had delayed this long enough.
The door opened, and Satella Bruxa greeted her with the same bright warmth that had defined her before death had claimed her. Silver hair framed her face, her eyes full of light, her smile unguarded. "Commander, it is so good to see you," she said, stepping aside to welcome her in.
Shar'El entered, keeping her composure even as something in her chest tightened. Satella's presence was exactly as it had always been, perhaps even more radiant. She should have felt relieved. Instead, unease lingered. A part of her longed to reach out with her Ullian gift, to glimpse Satella's memories, to see what lay beyond life's veil or how her return had truly unfolded. The temptation was sharp, almost irresistible. But she stopped herself, recalling the promise she had made to Erik: never to scan a member of the crew without their consent. Satella was, as she had always been, one of them.
"I wanted to make sure you were all right," Shar'El said.
Satella waved the words aside with gentle dismissal. "I am fine. More than fine. Alive. Whole. Curious, even. But tell me, how is everyone else? How are Ya'Han and Ya'Jun? Jayson? Adriana and Amanda? I heard Christie and her mother are adjusting well."
True to form, Satella turned the concern away from herself, focusing on the crew with that selfless sincerity that had once made her the heart of the ANUBIS.
Shar'El allowed herself a small breath before answering. "They are... alive. Stable. But changed. Each in their own way. We do not yet know how deeply."
Satella tilted her head, studying the Ullian with a gaze that seemed to see past armor. "And you, Commander? You look as though you carry a weight heavier than most."
Shar'El hesitated. Few could draw honesty from her, but Satella always had. "You and Jayson both returned from death. Balance never comes without cost. I cannot help but wonder what shadow is waiting for us because of it."
Satella did not flinch, nor deny it. Instead she smiled, soft and unshaken. "Perhaps. But balance is not only darkness answering light. It is also healing after suffering. Hope after despair. Sometimes the scales do not tilt toward loss, Shar''El. Sometimes they tilt toward grace."
The words lingered, spoken with such calm conviction that even Shar'El found herself unsettled. Satella was not naive. She had been through too much for that. Yet she radiated a belief that wholeness was possible, that not every gift demanded equal pain in return.
For a moment, Shar'El allowed herself to stand in that warmth. She thought again of Gemma, of Nathan, of the problem declared as motherhood. A boy on a ship of shadows. A problem for which she had no answer. And yet, looking at Satella, she saw possibility. T'Lara could benefit from her presence in Sickbay. Perhaps Nathan could too.
Shar'El straightened, recovering her composure. "It is good to have you back, Doctor. More than I can say."
"And it is good to be back," Satella replied, her smile radiant. "Alive, and with all of you. That is enough for now. I am looking forward to the day I will be declared fit for duty so that I can repay the kindness so many showed to me, even when I was not aware of it."
-=-=-
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Corridor
Stardate: 45015.0930
Shar'El walked once more through the corridors of the ANUBIS. Shadows still whispered at the edges of her thoughts, reminding her that balance was rarely merciful. But Satella's words clung to her as well, quiet but insistent. Sometimes balance tilted toward grace.
Satella's return might herald a new beginning, not only for her but for all of them, and this perhaps in ways none of them could yet imagine.
=-=
Tiffany Reeve
Commander Shar'El
Executive Officer
USS ANUBIS
---
"Comparative Constants"
(Previous Post: "Return to Normal?")
---
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 14, Microbiology Laboratory
Stardate: 45015.1030
The Microbiology Laboratory was, like all other laboratories aboard the USS ANUBIS, a state-of-the-art research facility. A place that the Shillian scientist could call home and be completely at ease without the slightest effort. The impressive research hub was quiet, its low illumination panels calibrated to reduce environmental contamination while ensuring clarity of observation. Rows of holoscreens surrounded Lieutenant Commander Maya, each one alive with cascading molecular structures, histological overlays, and comparative genomic charts.
Her primary focus at that moment was the Nylaan genetic strands of Ya'Han and Ya'Jun. Both samples were under active analysis, each revealing a tapestry of structural degradation and marker corruption consistent with Lokustaar interference. The precision of the damage fascinated her, not only because of its uniformity but because of the subtlety with which it had rewritten expression patterns that, in other genetic frameworks, defined cultural identity. She was compiling a comprehensive report to assist Doctor T'Lara in evaluating whether repair was possible or if the damage represented a permanent alteration in Nylaan inheritance.
It was during this meticulous work that the door to the laboratory parted with a soft hiss.
Drayk Val'Bruxa entered. His stride was unhurried but direct, his presence carrying the same inevitability as the gravity that pulled planets into orbit. His gaze instantly locked onto the Shillian. "You are as predictable as gravity," he said evenly as he came closer. "The report of a spike in computer resource demands told me where you would be. Abandoned the device already?"
"The device became completely inert following Ya'Jun using it to restore Satella, Jayson and to remove the Lokustaar genetic markers from everyone affected," Maya explained, never taking her attention away from her work. "Instead of wasting my time with a line of research that was clearly leading nowhere, I offered my assistance to Doctor T'Lara who graciously accepted, so I have been looking into the genetic damage suffered by Ya'Han and Ya'Jun, damage that had deprived them of their ability to change their hair colour, making them outcasts to their own people, not to mention not being able to claim their rightful heritage as part of the Nylaan royal family.
Drayk scanned the room, his expression tightening as his gaze settled on one particular screen. The displayed structure, neural microtubule arrays overlaid with mitochondrial density plots, was Satella's. Recognition was instant.
"What else are you doing?" he asked.
Maya's head lifted, her large dark eyes narrowing slightly as she identified what he had been looking at to trigger the abrupt question. Instead of answering directly, she countered, "How were you able to recognize Doctor Bruxa’s genomic and cellular framework so quickly? Aside from Doctor T’Lara and myself, few could have done so without consulting her medical records, and I am rather confident that no one would have been able to do so from memory with such absolute certainty."
Drayk's expression did not change. "I know her. Every part. Answer the question."
The Shillian blinked, realizing her deviation. "Yes, of course. My apologies. I am presently assisting Doctor T'Lara in her continuing evaluation of Ya'Han and Ya'Jun's genetic damage. The removal of the Lokustaar genetic markers from their Nylaan genome has disrupted not only the cosmetic markers tied to hair pigmentation but also deeper sequences that have fully isolated them from their own people..."
"Commander," His voice cut through hers, sharp and efficient. "That is not what I asked."
Her hands folded neatly before her. "Correct. The screen before you contains the current genomic representation of Doctor Bruxa. My task is to compare her present cellular and genetic state with her records prior to her death. The goal is to ascertain whether the same type of corruption observed in Ya'Han and Ya'Jun is present here as well.”"
Drayk's eyes narrowed. "And?"
Her response came with the brightness of one pleased by clarity. "To this point, I have identified no deviations whatsoever. No degradation, no shadow-born corruption, not even the subtlest misalignment of expression patterns. She is, in every measurable physiological parameter, identical to the Satella Bruxa she was before, which is scientifically remarkable considering the circumstances of her return."
Drayk regarded her for several seconds. Maya, too focused on her results, missed the subtle tightening of his jaw. The single word she had used, physiological, lingered in his thoughts. Without another word, he turned and strode toward the exit.
The doors whispered shut behind him, leaving Maya momentarily perplexed at his silence. She replayed the conversation in her mind but then dismissed the matter, returning instead to her layered screens. There was still much work to complete, and unanswered questions always demanded her attention.
---
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)
"Something Old, Something New"
Previous post: "Comparative Constants" by Jessica
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 7 corridor, Sickbay
Stardate: 45015.1100
Satella moved through the corridors of the ANUBIS with the ease of someone who once belonged to every deck and bulkhead. Yet today each familiar detail; the hum of the EPS conduits, the faint vibration beneath her boots, the mirrored flash of passing officers, it all felt sharpened, almost new.
It was the sensation of returning to a life you were never meant to leave, a miracle that still carried the weight of the 128,252 lives lost to buy it.
Her smile was gentle but alive with quiet wonder, as if each step carried the thrill of a first discovery layered over years of memory.
Almost without thinking she drifted toward Sickbay, her old domain, until the doors parted and she found herself face to face with its current guardian.
Doctor T'Lara stood at the center of the ward, posture a study in Vulcan-Romulan poise. Confidence radiated from her like an even pulse.
"Doctor Bruxa," T'Lara greeted, allowing only the faintest flicker of surprise. "What brings you here?"
"Habit, it seems," Satella replied with a warm glow. "But please, no need for titles. I'm not cleared for duty."
"It is only a matter of time," T'Lara said. The smallest upward curve touched her lips, almost a smile. "I have reviewed your file. I find no medical reason to oppose reinstatement."
Satella's eyes softened. "Thank you. And… Jayson?"
There she was, the old Satella, someone always concerned about everyone else's well being over her own, but the question landed with more weight than simple professional concern. Both of them had crossed the same impossible threshold and returned.
"Physically, Lieutenant Stark is recovering," T'Lara said, her voice even. "But his progress is much slower than yours."
Satella's gaze sought the man who had once died for love. Jayson lay pale but steady on a nearby biobed, monitors keeping calm rhythm with his heart. She drew a bench closer and sat.
His eyes opened at the disturbance, surprise breaking the haze.
"So… it's true," he whispered, a faint, almost frightened smile touching his lips. "I heard whispers of your return."
"The universe decided it wasn't our time," Satella said, her smile warm enough to cut through the sterile air. "Few are given a true second chance. We should both be grateful."
Jayson held her eyes for a long breath, then turned toward the still figure of Ya'Han on the next bed before looking back. "A second chance… may not be enough."
Satella leaned closer, voice low but certain. "She needs you now more than ever. Whatever happened between you, the two of you still share something worth fighting for. Hold on to that. Give her your strength, your forgiveness."
"I forgave her long before… all of this." His hand made a small, tired gesture toward the ward, the life he should not have reclaimed.
Before Satella could reply, the Sickbay doors hissed open.
Gemma entered with Nathan at her side, her stride clipped, eyes shadowed by tension that even her nanite-perfect poise could not mask. T'Lara and Satella moved toward them, instinctively aware of a disturbance that might become something worse.
"Doctor, this isn't going to..." Gemma began, only to stop as Satella crouched smoothly in front of the boy, cutting off words that a child need not hear.
"Nathan," Satella said, lowering herself to his eye level. Her smile carried a quiet warmth that felt like sunlight through a hatch window. "I've heard so much about you. I'm very happy we finally meet. You, Christie and Amanda went through something horrible but found your way out. That's amazing."
Something in her presence, her voice, her gentle certainty, melted the stiffness from Nathan's shoulders. Gemma's own relief flickered in her eyes.
"If Gemma agrees," Satella continued, "perhaps we could find Drayk and convince him to show us Main Engineering. Afterwards… the Black Hole Lounge. I hear they serve the best Risian triple-chocolate ice-cream cake in the fleet." The woman's smile and wink could have charmed the coldest hearted, leaving Nathan powerless to resist, not that he wanted to. His face lit with sudden excitement. He turned to Gemma, who gave a small, nervous nod.
Satella rose gracefully, taking the boy's hand as they moved toward the door. Before leaving, she glanced back at Jayson.
"Second chances," she said softly, "are worth more than we ever realize... or dare to hope."
The words lingered in the quiet ward long after the doors closed behind the woman and the child, an echo of gratitude edged with the unspoken cost of miracles.
=-=
Rachel Jackie Johnson <racheljackiejohnson@gmail.com>
Lieutenant JG Satella Bruxa
Chief Medical Officer
USS ANUBIS
[Be careful about reading health books. You may die of a misprint. - Mark Twain]
"Dismissal into Uncertainty"
Previous post: "Something Old, Something New" by Rachel
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Sickbay
Stardate: 45015.1200
The monitors had long since confirmed what logic already dictated: each patient’s vitals were steady, their recovery plateaued into a state that further observation could not alter. Ya'Han. Ya'Jun. Jayson. Alive, stable, and beyond the reach of any additional medical intervention.
There was nothing more she could do for them.
"Your time in Sickbay is concluded," T'Lara said evenly, her tone leaving no room for debate. "You are free to return to your quarters. Medical records will note your condition accordingly."
No elaborate instructions, no ceremonial phrasing. The decision was simple: beds must be available should true emergencies arise. Allowing them to linger would be an inefficient use of resources; an emotional indulgence supported by neither Vulcan logic nor Romulan pragmatism.
Ya'Han and Ya'Jun bore damage too precise, too extensive. Maya's analysis had offered data, but not solutions. The loss of their chromatic legacy appeared irreversible, the black strands of commoners fixed as their new reality. Among their people, it would mean a collapse of standing and identity. Among the crew, it might appear a simple aesthetic loss. Still, T'Lara suspected the path forward would be more painful than any wound she could treat.
Jayson might have remained, had she allowed it, but what purpose would that serve? His body was whole, but his mind carried the memory of death. Prolonged isolation here would only deepen that shadow, driving him further inward. Better that he face the reality of his restored life beyond Sickbay walls, however unwelcome the confrontation.
She recorded the releases with a precise movement of her hand, the notation passing silently into the ship's log. Three patients dismissed, three lives carried forward into uncertainty. Sickbay had done all it could; the rest lay outside its reach.
The doors parted as Adriana entered, Amanda trailing close. The counselor's presence was expected, her role necessary. She came to ease the transition from patient to crew member, to support those who might stumble under the weight of what could not be healed. Amanda's presence was less certain. The twin followed as she always did, yet her gaze lingered on Adriana in a way T'Lara had not observed before: subtle, but distinct. Even after reunion, the bond between them was not steady, and something in Amanda's posture and gaze suggested it was shifting again.
T'Lara said nothing. Observation was sufficient. She made a mental note, nothing more.
Her attention returned to the departing patients, each carrying burdens that no tricorder could measure.
Ya'Jun's stride was steady, her posture outwardly confident, yet T'Lara recognized the strength as a shield. The loss of her light and the collapse of her Nylaan heritage were truths that even strength could not deny.
Ya'Han followed, her gaze fixed anywhere but on the man beside her. Guilt held her eyes down, guilt that he had died in her place. Gratitude, grief, perhaps even the shadow of the indifference that had once been there warred inside her, yet none found expression.
Jayson Stark kept his stride measured, his shoulders square. Satella's words had given him clarity: Ya'Han would need him more than ever. Yet T'Lara saw the shadow in his eyes, the weight of a memory not easily dismissed. Death was not an abstraction to him. It lived still in his nerves, sharpened further by the knowledge that it was Ya'Han who had given the order that ultimately killed him.
When the ward grew quiet again, the biobeds lay vacant.
Sickbay stood ready once more for emergencies, but the silence that reclaimed it was not peace. It was the silence of aftermath: three lives carried forward, none untouched, none the same.
=-=
Dawn Bohr
Lt. Commander T'Lara
Chief Medical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Silent Burdens"
Previous post: "Dismissal into Uncertainty" by Dawn
-=-=-
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Corridor
Stardate: 45015.1220
The corridor outside Sickbay was silent. Five figures moved together, their presence enough to draw glances from passing crewmembers who just as quickly looked away. Adriana Lopez moved at the front, carrying her professional calm like armor, Amanda at her side mirroring her steps, her silence unsettling in how perfectly it reflected the stillness around them.
Ya'Han followed a few paces behind. To her left walked Jayson, alive but fragile, every breath a reminder of what she had done. To her right, her twin sister Ya'Jun, steady and unyielding, her posture a contrast so sharp it might as well have been a blade. Together they filled the corridor, yet no one spoke.
From the corner of her eye Ya'Han noticed Zub standing at attention further down the passage, his massive frame casting a shadow across the bulkhead. He said nothing, but his eyes spoke clearly enough. He remembered what she had become. He remembered the threat she had been, and might still be. Ya'Han lowered her gaze, unwilling to meet the judgment she knew she deserved.
Adriana slowed her pace, turning slightly as if to address the silence. Her voice was low, careful, but carried the tone of someone reaching into dark waters without knowing what she would touch.
"You are not alone in this. Healing never happens all at once, but it has to begin somewhere."
No one answered. Not Jayson, whose silence was heavier than words. Not Ya'Jun, whose steady stride said more than any voice could. And not Ya'Han, who let the words pass her by like the cold hum of the ship's conduits.
For an instant she risked it. She turned her head just enough to meet Jayson's eyes. His gaze was fixed on her, unwavering, carrying the same devotion that had led him to die for her. The weight of it pierced deeper than any blade. She looked away at once, her chest tight with guilt. She could not understand why he looked at her that way, not after everything she had done to him, not after she had chosen the shadows over him.
Beside her, Ya'Jun walked tall. Her hair, as black as Ya'Han's, marked her loss just as clearly. Yet her bearing showed no weakness. She had endured the same erasure of heritage, the same loss of power, but carried it with a quiet strength that Ya'Han could not even imagine possessing. The contrast was unbearable.
Adriana tried again, her voice softer this time. "There is no shame in feeling lost. But there is danger in staying there. You do not have to carry this alone."
Still nothing. The silence was absolute, a wall that even the Counselor's words could not breach. Amanda remained close at her sister's side, her presence a quiet mirror of another pair of twins walking only steps behind.
Adriana pressed on, though she knew the silence might never break. "You have all suffered. But suffering does not erase who you are. It does not erase what you can still become."
Ya'Han felt the words but could not accept them. Not now. Not when every glance reminded her of what she had done. Zub's watchful presence, Jayson's unwavering gaze, Ya'Jun's strength, even Adriana's persistence, all pressed down on her like chains. She could not see a way forward. Not yet.
The corridor stretched ahead, quiet and unending. Each step felt heavier than the last.
Ya'Han lowered her eyes and walked on.
She was not ready to change. Not yet.
But the silence that followed her was not only hers. Others carried it with her. And though she could not feel it, though she would not accept it, the first stone of the path to redemption had already been set beneath her feet. The only question that remained was whether she could take it.
-=-=-
Hanali Han
Lieutenant Ya'Han
Chief of Security / Tactical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Perfection by Design"
Previous post: "Silent Burdens" by Hanali
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 22, Main Engineering
Stardate: 45015.1230
The rhythmic pulse of the warp core filled Main Engineering, a steady heartbeat of steel and antimatter. Drayk stood near the status displays, arms folded, silver hair lit by the reflection of containment fields. His gaze did not linger on the instruments, but on Satella.
She was seated at the console beside Nathan, her voice calm, her touch precise. The boy asked questions with the hunger of youth, and she answered with patience. When he grew restless, she steadied him with a quiet smile, her tone motherly without effort. Drayk watched in silence, the sight cutting through his usual steel. She embodied their design without knowing it, the bridge between care and purpose, between the present moment and the future of their kind.
For an instant, his expression shifted: admiration hidden within the shadow of inevitability. They had been created to bring forth new life, to refine the Mikulak line with selective intent. Watching her, he saw the clarity of that purpose. She was exactly what she was meant to be. And so was he.
Nathan's voice broke his thoughts. "I am hungry."
Satella's laugh was soft, unguarded. "Then as promised, we will go to the Black Hole Lounge and ask for as much Risian Triple Chocolate ice cream that the food replicators can create." She rose gracefully, guiding Nathan to his feet before turning her gaze back to Drayk.
"Will you join us?" she asked, her voice carrying both invitation and certainty, as though the answer mattered less than the inevitability of her asking.
For a breath, his instinct was to refuse. Duty weighed heavier than indulgence. He began to shape the words, but she stood there with that calm expectation, silver hair echoing his own, eyes unwavering.
"You tempt me with distraction," he said at last, his tone edged like a blade drawn slow. "Ice cream is no weapon. It serves no purpose."
Satella's smile lingered, calm but resolute. "Purpose is not always about weapons. Sometimes it is about balance."
Drayk's gaze held hers, the cold certainty of his nature pressing against the warmth of her insistence. Every calculation urged refusal. To indulge was inefficient, a distraction from vigilance. But she was no distraction. She was the axis upon which his future turned, the singular constant without which his design collapsed.
His voice came low, unyielding, but edged with a truth reserved only for her. "You know I do not bend." A beat passed, his eyes narrowing as though measuring the universe itself. "Except to you."
The boy's cheer was instant, Satella's hand already guiding him toward the corridor. Drayk followed, not as concession but as certainty. He had defied captains, command structures, and fate itself. Yet Satella's will remained the one inevitability he would never refuse. She was not his weakness in spite of his strength, she was the reason it existed at all.
=-=
Scott Grant
Lieutenant JG Drayk Val'Bruxa
Assistant Chief Engineer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"The outcome was decided before the first move was made."
"Beginnings of Something Better"
Previous Post: "Perfection by Design" by Scott
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Ya'Han and Jasyon's Quarters
Stardate: 45015.1230
The walk back to the quarters had been quiet, each step heavy with unspoken weight. Adriana paused at the door as it opened, letting Ya'Han and Jayson step inside first. Neither spared her a glance. Ya'Han moved straight to the bedroom without a word, her movements quick and clipped. Jayson followed, silent, his gaze locked on her until the door slid shut with a final hiss that seemed to echo the silence they left behind.
That left only Ya'Jun standing in the common room with the Lopez twins. For a long moment she said nothing, then finally turned to Adriana.
"Thank you," Ya'Jun said at last, her voice carrying both the gratitude of a sister and the burden of one who knew the road ahead far too well. "You have done more than most would dare… but do not mistake this for an ending. For Ya'Han, the hardest part begins now. Every step forward will demand strength, and every weakness will tempt her back into the shadows. This will not be quick, and it will not be easy."
Adriana inclined her head. "I know. Healing takes time."
Ya'Jun's gaze softened, though only slightly. "It takes more than time. It takes strength, patience, and forgiveness. All of which will be tested again and again. I will do what I can, but she will need more than me. She will need all of us."
Adriana let her voice remain calm. "She will not face it alone."
Ya'Jun nodded once, accepting the promise. She glanced at Amanda, who stood silently beside her sister, eyes lowered, saying nothing. Then Ya'Jun excused herself, retreating deeper into the quarters, leaving the Lopez twins alone in the corridor once more.
-=-=-
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Black Hole Lounge
Stardate: 45015.1240
The Black Hole was alive with quiet chatter, though the undercurrent of tension remained. Adriana led the way in, her eyes scanning the room. She quickly spotted Drayk standing near the bar, Satella beside him, her attention focused almost entirely on Nathan. The boy smiled up at her as if she had always belonged in his life, and Satella leaned down with a gentleness that came as naturally to her as breathing.
Adriana watched for a long moment, a professional note forming in her mind. Satella seemed to fit into the role of caretaker without effort, without hesitation. It was more than instinct; it was as if life had simply restored her to the place she was meant to be. A faint sting of envy rose in Adriana's chest. Satella had returned from death itself and slipped seamlessly back into her place in the world, while Adriana still struggled to find balance with the sister she had spent twenty years searching for.
The next group of people her gaze fell upon was the mother and daughter duo. Adriana sighed and turned her gaze toward the upper level, expecting Amanda to already be making her way down to Christie and Cristhiane. Instead, Amanda remained by her side.
"Would you like to sit up there?" Amanda asked, motioning to the seating on the upper level. "Away from everyone. Just the two of us."
Adriana blinked, taken aback by the offer. "If that is what you want."
Amanda shook her head, her voice tight, almost breaking. "No. It is what I need. I thought Christie was the only one who could understand me, and I clung to her the way the Matrix taught me to cling to anything that kept me alive, no matter the cost. Survival at any price, that was the lesson drilled into every simulation. But I see now the price was you. I was blind. I left you in the shadows when you were the one who gave up everything for me. I cannot keep shutting you out, Adriana. Not after you spent twenty years fighting to bring me home."
Adriana swallowed hard, her counselor's training urging her to keep her tone steady, even. "You have not hurt me, Amanda. You have been through more than anyone should. It is natural to lean on someone who understands that part of you."
Amanda studied her sister's face carefully, catching the faint glimmer in her eyes, the way Adriana turned slightly to hide the tears threatening to surface. "You say that, but I can see it. I will not turn away from you again."
Adriana forced a small smile, hoping it would be enough. "Then let us sit. Together."
They climbed the steps and settled on the upper level, away from the noise and the crowd. For the first time in weeks, Adriana felt Amanda’s choice to stay close was not obligation, but a decision freely made.
-=-=-
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Black Hole Lounge
Stardate: 45015.1245
On the lower level, Christie noticed the Lopez twins' arrival. Relief flickered across her face as she saw Amanda remain with Adriana rather than rushing over to her. She had worried that her words earlier might not have taken root, but the sight now was proof enough.
Cristhiane followed her daughter's gaze, her expression softening. "She chose her sister this time."
Christie nodded. "She did. I am glad. Amanda needed to see it, to feel it. Maybe now things will begin to settle."
Her mother's hand brushed against hers, gentle but trembling. "And maybe now… for the first time in years… we can wonder what comes next. A life not lived under the weight of shadows. A life where the Tal’Shiar no longer script every step we take."
Christie hesitated, her shoulders tightening as if expecting shadows to rise out of the walls even here, even now. "Do you think they will really leave us alone? Even without the markers?"
Cristhiane's voice was careful, touched with both caution and hope. "I do not know. But for the first time, we have a chance. A life that is not always about running or hiding. It may never be easy, but perhaps it can be... quiet."
Christie's lips curved into a small, tentative smile. "Quiet sounds strange. But maybe strange is what we need."
Cristhiane returned the smile, pulling her daughter closer. For the first time in years, they spoke not of survival but of possibility.
-=-=-
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Black Hole Lounge, Upper Level
Stardate: 45015.1250
Adriana sat in silence, Amanda close beside her. She let her eyes wander over the lounge.
Her mind drifted back to Ya'Han's quarters, to the emptiness in the woman's gaze, to Ya'Jun's steady warning. Healing would not come easily. Not for Ya'Han. Not for Amanda. Not even for herself. Survival, she realized, was never about instant wholeness. It was about enduring the fractures, choosing, again and again, to keep moving forward. It was about small choices, quiet moments, fragile promises that somehow managed to hold.
Her eyes returned to the room below. Satella laughed with Nathan as if death had never touched her. Christie and Cristhiane leaned into hope like it was something they could finally reach. And Adriana… she sat with the cracks still showing, with tears she did not let fall. But Amanda's shoulder pressed against hers, steady and warm, and for the first time in years, that was enough.
She closed her eyes, letting that presence sink in. For the first time in a long while, she felt Amanda had chosen her.
Quietly, almost to herself, Adriana thought, **Healing never comes all at once. But it begins here… with her hand in mine..**
-=-=-
Marissa Montonera-Lombardi
Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez
Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador
USS ANUBIS
#######
"Making Our Way Home"
Previous post: "Beginnings of Something Better"
##########
" Peace is never permanent. It is only the pause between storms."
— Captain Selene Fiona Iverson, USS BASTET
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Captain's Ready Room
Stardate: 45029.1115
The Native American sat at his desk, a single lonely PADD in his hand compared to the usual stacks that always found their way to him. Over the last two weeks of the ANUBIS' steady and peaceful journey back to NEW ALEXANDRIA, life aboard the Intel vessel had settled into a routine pattern, something strangely unusual for both ship and crew.
The door chime interrupted the calm quietness of the Captain's office, but not in a bad or undesired way.
"Come in," Erik instructed. The door hissed open, and his First Officer Shar'El stepped in with an uncharacteristic smile on her lips.
"At our current speed and heading, we will reach NEW ALEXANDRIA in 6 hours."
"6 hours?" Erik sighed. The last two weeks had almost felt like a vacation, an opportunity for the crew to wind down after having dealt with so much, some more than others.
"I could tell A'Janni to slow down or ask Maya or Zub to find some reason for us to make a detour."
Erik chuckled. "Koniki is likely already expecting us, and I suspect that he will not be overly happy that we have already taken this long to get back to the barn."
"It was his own directive that the ANUBIS was not to return to NEW ALEXANDRIA until the situation with Ya'Han and the device was properly dealt with."
The Captain's expression became colder as his thoughts drifted to the members of his crew who had been the most affected by their last mission. "Ya'Han and Ya'Jun gave up their genetic identities as Nylaans, and the device is completely inert. I think it is safe to say that the situation has been more than dealt with."
"Koniki might not be overly happy that the device is inert, but I suspect that his attention will quickly shift to Satella. It's not every day that a death certificate has to be cancelled."
"Luckily for us, T'Lara had not had time to officially log Jayson's death," Erik added. "Although a quick review of the mission log will trigger the Admiral's curiosity, for sure forcing us to explain how not one, but two, officers returned from the dead. Speaking of which, how are they all doing? I know that they have all been given as much freedom as possible over the last two weeks for them to find their emotional footing."
Shar'El's smile softened as she took the chair across from him. "It varies, as you might expect. Ya'Han has spent most of her time either in the gymnasium or on the holodeck, throwing herself into training. It is clear she is trying to avoid spending too much time around Jayson, though I suspect she has not yet decided how to face him directly."
"And Ya'Jun?" Erik asked.
"She has been content to enjoy a quiet life. She spends time with the others when invited, but for the most part she has been happy to simply be herself without the shadow of Nylaan expectations looming over her. Satella has become something of a regular companion for her, especially since our Doctor has taken on the role of teacher for Nathan. The boy now lives full-time with Gemma, but he still spends a lot of time with Satella, who seems to enjoy the distraction as much as he enjoys the lessons. Christie and Cristhiane have been splitting their time between Satella and Nathan, and helping T'Lara in Sickbay. They are both doing their best to make themselves useful, and T'Lara has welcomed the extra hands."
The Captain nodded slowly, pleased to hear at least some good coming from the chaos they had endured. "And Jayson?"
"Back on duty," Shar'El confirmed. "He is performing all the tasks expected of a Chief of Operations and doing them well, but it is clear something weighs on him. More than once I have seen him glance towards the Tactical station. Seeing Zub there instead of Ya'Han is a constant reminder of what has changed, and whatever he feels he keeps locked tightly away."
Erik allowed himself a grin. "So Jayson does not find Zub's scales quite as appealing as Ya'Han's presence?"
Shar'El fixed him with a look that was equal parts unimpressed and amused. "If the Captain is trying to make jokes, then it is a sure sign that we need to get back to NEW ALEXANDRIA."
He chuckled but said nothing more, letting the moment fade before steering them back on track. "What about the others? Maya, Drayk, Sonja?"
"Maya has not stopped researching," Shar'El replied. "She has been poring over every source she can find for a way to undo the genetic damage suffered by Ya'Han and Ya'Jun. I doubt she will stop until she is convinced there is no chance left to explore. Drayk has been working in Main Engineering, revamping and improving most of the ship's systems. His efficiency has given Sonja the luxury of time to focus on upgrading Ani. I believe she enjoys the chance to play with the ship's avatar without worrying about routine system checks dragging her back."
The Captain leaned back in his chair, his eyes drifting for a moment toward the ceiling. "Everyone finding their own place, one way or another. Maybe that is all we could have hoped for."
Shar'El tilted her head, the faintest hint of concern in her eyes. "For now, yes. But the true test will come once we set foot back on NEW ALEXANDRIA. Peaceful routines are fragile aboard this ship, and I suspect ours is about to end."
--==(/\)==--
Francois Charette
Captain Erik Morningstar
Commanding Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
--
"I used to think it was awful that life was so unfair. Then I thought, wouldn't it be much worse if life were fair and all the terrible things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them. So now I take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe."
- Marcus Cole, Babylon 5
"Battling Against One's Self"
Previous post: "Making Our Way Home" by Francois
-=-=-
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Holodeck
Stardate: 45029.1330
The holodeck shimmered with the echo of steel on steel. Ya'Han's holographic opponent, herself, red-haired and alive with all the colors she could no longer summon, moved with precision that bordered on cruelty. Each strike was as familiar as it was foreign, a living record of the warrior she used to be.
She blocked, pivoted, struck again, the sequence drilled into her bones since childhood. Yet every time the holo-projection's hair swept past her vision, a crimson waterfall in motion, her focus fractured. It was like sparring a ghost that remembered everything she had lost.
Another clash, another parry. Her breathing was ragged now, not from exertion but from the weight of the comparison. "You're supposed to be me," she hissed under her breath, "but I can't even see myself anymore."
The program did not answer. It never did.
A sound stirred behind her, a presence that had not been there a moment ago. Ya'Han did not break her stance. "I locked those doors."
"They were," came a cool, calm voice.
Ya'Han's blade froze mid-arc. She turned her head, eyes narrowing. "What are you doing here Gemma?"
The Intel Officer stepped into the simulated training ground as though she belonged there, coppery curls catching the holographic light. "You should know by now, security locks are only a suggestion," Gemma said with a shrug. "One I can bypass at will."
Ya'Han's grip tightened. "I don't want to talk." Her sigh came out harsher than intended, the sound of a wall being built rather than words spoken.
"That's why Adriana isn't here," Gemma replied, walking a slow circle as she studied the holographic double before it faded on her silent command. "And why you've been training against your own shadows for two weeks. You can't keep this up, Ya'Han. Sooner or later you'll have to say something to someone…" She let the pause hang before finishing, "…to him."
Ya'Han looked away, jaw clenched. "I can't."
Gemma tilted her head, voice quieter now but no less firm. "Why not?"
Ya'Han's answer slipped out, raw and unarmored. "Because I am the reason he died. Not because I failed to save him, but because I was the one who summoned the attack. It was meant to kill, and it did. My only excuse, as weak as it is, is that the strike was meant for my twin sister, not him. Tell me, how does that absolve me?"
The silence that followed was heavier than any blow. Around them the holodeck simulation flickered, the last echo of red hair dissolving into black nothingness.
Gemma stayed where she was, watching her friend stare at the empty space where her past self had stood. "Stop fighting ghosts," she said softly. "Start fighting for the ones who are still here."
Ya'Han drew in a sharp breath, ready to argue, to lash out, to hide once more behind silence. But when she turned, Gemma was already gone. No sound of doors opening, no trace of her presence, only the faint distortion of the holodeck's matrix stabilizing where her image had been.
"Fighting is all I know, all I have ever known," she whispered, struggling to hold back tears.
The blade slipped from her fingers, clattering against the floor before vanishing. Ya'Han clenched her fists, hating that even now, after losing so much, the shadows still held more control over her life than she did.
-=-=-
Hanali Han
Lieutenant Ya'Han
Chief of Security / Tactical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Alone Between Stars"
Previous post: "Battling Against One's Self" by Hanali
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge
Stardate: 45029.1400
Jayson sat at Operations, his eyes unfocused on the stars smeared into thin lines across the main viewscreen. The routine of duty steadied him, but steadiness itself had begun to feel unnatural. Too smooth. Too quiet. As though the bridge had been rehearsed into silence, every officer moving in careful rhythm, every breath timed not to disturb the stillness.
At the Operations console his fingers moved automatically, repeating the cycle of status checks, sensor sweeps, and power distribution as if the ship itself demanded constant attention. Each task built another thin wall between him and the one absence that gnawed at him. The wall never held for long. The silence always crept back in.
Tactical was manned, but wrong. Zub's broad frame filled the station, scales glinting in the glow of the displays, but the chair was not his. It belonged to her. It always had. Seeing it without her was like staring at a wound that refused to close. She wasn't on the bridge. She wasn't beside him. And when their paths crossed elsewhere, she wasn't even willing to meet his eyes. She was avoiding him, and the distance stretched time itself.
His jaw tightened, eyes fixed on a meaningless diagnostic. She had faced monsters, sovereigns, and shadows that bent reality itself, but she could not face him.
A shadow passed behind him. Heavy, deliberate footfalls drew level with his station. Zub stopped there, a wall of scales and muscle standing in quiet solidarity. He didn't speak at first, only folded his arms across his chest, golden eyes narrowing as if weighing the storm he saw etched in Stark's silence.
"You're not alone in this," Zub said at last, his voice a low rumble. "Doesn't feel like much right now, I know. But it matters."
The words were plain, unpolished, but their weight pressed deeper than Jayson expected. He swallowed, nodding once without looking up. His gaze slid to a power allocation chart. Holodeck consumption: minimal, almost invisible in the grid. Almost. The tiny spike had been there every day. A fraction higher than it should have been, steady as her absence. She was down there again, still. Hidden in simulations for hours, for days. She slipped from their quarters before he woke and returned long after he pretended to sleep. The holodeck lights had her company more than he did.
Later, the measured tap of claws reached him. A'Janni slowed near Operations, his single eye catching Stark's profile. The Caitian offered no pity, only the steady calm of someone who had carried loss long enough to recognize its shape in others.
"She'll come to terms in her own way," A'Janni said, voice pitched low enough that only Jayson could hear. "In the meantime, you don't have to carry all of it alone."
The Operations officer finally looked up, meeting the Caitian's gaze. For a heartbeat, words threatened to rise; gratitude, denial, something else, but all that came out was a short exhale. The corners of A'Janni's mouth lifted in the faintest ghost of a smile before he returned to the helm.
The bridge settled once more into its slow rhythm, consoles humming, stars streaming endlessly past in silence. Time stretched again, thin and fragile, each second measured by the absence at Tactical.
Jayson refocused on his station. The work steadied his hands, but not his heart. The absence at Tactical was still there, hollow and cold. Yet the brief stops from Zub and A'Janni left a trace of something else behind as well. Not answers. Not peace. But a reminder that he wasn't as isolated as he was being made to feel.
It wasn't much. A trace of connection. A reminder. For now, it was enough to keep his hands moving… even if it couldn't steady his heart. Another glance to the Tactical station was all he needed to remind himself of that.
=-=
Jayson Sousa
Lieutenant Jayson Stark
Chief of Operations
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Family Dinner"
Previous post: "Alone Between Stars" by Jayson
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Gemma's Quarters
Stardate: 45029.1800
Gemma and Nathan sat at the dinner table, sitting across from one another, a steaming bowl of replicated stew in front of them. To any outsider, the scene could have easily been considered sweet, but the silence that hung in the air told a different tale. The ILO studied the young boy as he devoured the meal while her own remained untouched.
When the door chime rang, Gemma literally leaped out of her chair, making it to the door in what seemed to be less than a single heartbeat. When the door opened, the quizzical gaze of the towering Voth fell upon the much shorter woman standing in front of him. He rumbled, "Everything all right?"
"Yes. Why?" Gemma quickly countered, a hint of confusion in her voice.
"The way you asked me to come over was..." Zub replied partially, his attention turning to the young boy sitting at the table, kicking his skinny legs back and forth under his chair while practically face-down in his bowl. The domestic scene felt entirely incongruous for the superspy Gemma that Zub thought he knew. The Voth sighed and walked in. "How are you doing, Nathan?"
The boy looked up and smiled, but his answer was cut short by Gemma's quick motherly intervention. "We do not speak with our mouths full."
Zub turned to Gemma, lowering his voice to a more gentle, caring tone. "How are we doing?"
"The ANUBIS is back home, and all of the docking procedures went well. NEW ALEXANDRIA downloaded all of the mission logs, and the station's technical staff is likely thoroughly analysing everything that happened on NOVOSYTH, the NORTHAL DRIFT, and NYLA IV. I suspect that we will be hearing from the Admiral once all of the data has been reviewed."
"Gemma," Zub quietly said, resting his clawed hand lightly on her shoulder as his nanites established a connection with hers. "I mean, how are *you* doing?"
The ILO paused for a moment, processing both the physical and mental connection before glancing back to the young boy who was placing his empty bowl back into the food replicator for recycling. "I..."
It was Nathan's turn to interrupt, not that he had meant to. "Can I go to my room and watch one of the holostories Satella suggested?"
Gemma smiled and nodded her head, but as soon as the young boy disappeared, the woman's smile and demeanor returned to the usual opaque expression for the ILO.
"I don't know why T'Lara thought that I could take care of him," Gemma quietly sighed. "He is so much happier with Satella. That's all he talks about. All of the things they did together. The stories she reads to him, how she laughs with him. How he never expected the real world to be this fun."
Via his small cadre of nanites, he felt as well as he heard her confusion. “You saved his life," Zub reminded her. "And he saved yours." The Voth paused for a moment, then reluctantly took his hand away, severing the connection between them. "Also, sharing your nanites, even for a short time, does make someone feel closer to you in ways that cannot be easily explained."
The illumination made her hair glint like burnished copper. Her blue eyes caught the light like gemstones. There was puzzlement in her upward gaze at him. Her tone was low, her voice soft. “Sometimes words can get in the way of explanations.”
In a rare show of physicality, she reached out a cool hand and took him by his scaly wrist, reestablishing the connection. She looked into his eyes. Her face as still as a pond. Yet, he felt a tidal wave of emotions sloshing back and forth as if trapped in a narrow bay.
Zub was a soldier, a policeman, and, if pressed, a detective. He was accustomed to walling off his emotions. He couldn't afford to be otherwise. But now, this ultraspy, by allowing herself to be completely vulnerable, was forcing him to recognize what she was feeling. He realized suddenly that she didn’t even know herself.
He quested beneath his own emotional armor. His nanites opened a way into her. Guilt, fear of failure, and jealousy of Satella’s easy relationship with the boy. The vulnerability of having to care for someone else rather than simply guarding that person.
His deep voice was soft, barely carrying over the audio of whatever holostory Nathan was entertaining himself with. “Caring for a boy yourself is not what you signed up for.”
He felt a door slam shut inside her. He sensed her grip loosen. A surge of fear struck him, worried she might abandon the touch. She didn’t; she whispered, “I’m not a mother.”
“But Satella gets to you. You can defend and defeat some of the strongest opponents out there, yet you are still bested by a small woman who, not long ago, was dead.”
Her eyes narrowed. It was hard to describe, but he felt barriers rising inside her, then falling, as if she was forcing herself to trust, to reveal what was inside her. Zub tried to name the strongest emotion.
"You are afraid," Zub said, finally realizing the feeling rushing through his mind. “Of what?”
He felt loss—powerful, all-consuming—yet only the faintest furrow appeared between her eyebrows. “What if Koniki decides to take him?" Gemma said, her voice husky. "Nathan is an invaluable source of intel on the Lokustaar training matrix, not to mention me. No one else has ever gotten that close to me... the real me, whoever that might be."
"Despite some willingly trying to do just that," Zub offered as a retort, only realising after the fact as to how much he had admitted to.
The beautiful woman, who seemed to have a hundred personas inside her, peered up at him intently, examining every wrinkle and scale on his face. Zub felt awkwardly positioned to defend himself if some persona of hers was about to attack him physically.
Gemma’s gaze lingered on Zub, but her thoughts were already turning inward, spiraling through the endless gallery of faces and voices that made up her fractured whole. Each persona knew how to fight, how to deceive, how to survive. None of them knew how to be what Nathan needed. The fear of losing him pressed harder than any Lokustaar shadow ever had, because this was not a battle she could win with skill or strategy. This was trust, belonging, and family: things no mask could mimic. For the first time, she wondered if the most dangerous mission Koniki had ever given her was not about shadows, enemies, or empires... but about herself.
=-=
Rachel Jackie Johnson
Lieutenant Gemma
Intel Operative
USS ANUBIS
[The fun is getting to wear multiple disguises and getting to explore multiple personalities and bring them to life.] - Jenna Fischer
and
David Michael Inverso
Lieutenant JG Zub Enel
MCO
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
"Shared Path"
Previous post: "Family Dinner" by Rachel and David
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Val'Bruxa's Quarters
Stardate: 45029.1800
The ANUBIS had been docked for nearly two hours, its crew filtering back into routines that felt both familiar and strange after so much time spent in the shadows of missions. Drayk returned to his quarters expecting the stillness of a room long left unoccupied. Instead, the scent of warm food greeted him, and Satella was already seated at the table with a meal prepared and waiting.
"I expected silence. Instead, I find you turning absence into ritual. You waste nothing... not even time." His tone was flat, but the weight behind it made it sound more like judgment than praise.
"It felt right," Satella replied with a smile as she gestured for him to sit. "We have both been given back more time than anyone had reason to expect. Sharing a meal, alone, seemed like the best way to honor that."
They ate in quiet at first, the steady rhythm of two people used to long silences. Then Satella broke it, her voice light but thoughtful.
"I spent time with Nathan today. His recovery is remarkable. The way he sees the world… it is far beyond his years. He speaks with a joy for life that is… intoxicating." She paused, eyes distant as if replaying a conversation. "I understand him in a way others might not. He was locked away in a Matrix, never truly living. I, too, have known what it is to lose life, only to have it returned. That kind of awareness binds us."
Drayk set his fork down, his expression distant as the stars. "Children do not emerge from cages unscarred. Nathan's joy is not innocence, it is defiance against what was taken from him. Fire such as his either tempers into steel… or consumes everything in its path. And do not forget, Gemma's nanites lived in his veins. That alone ensures he will never be ordinary."
Satella nodded slowly, her smile lingering. "Perhaps. But those marks have not dulled him. They have sharpened his hunger for life. That is what I admire."
"You are good with the boy," Drayk said, gaze steady. "But then, you were made for such work. You were not born—you were engineered. To heal, to nurture, to shape strength where weakness should have perished. That is not choice. It is design. And design is destiny."
She held his gaze without flinching, her voice softer but firm. "Yes, that is part of who I am. But it is not all that I am. Nathan benefits from my care, but so does anyone who finds themselves in Sickbay. Healing others reminds me that life is not just endurance, it is renewal, and that is something worth choosing each day. I would like to resume my duties there, not as Chief, but as Assistant to T'Lara. There is much I can learn from her, and much I can give in return."
Drayk studied her in silence, the pause stretched long enough to become a verdict in itself. "So you would divide yourself. You would stand in Sickbay while the legacy we were meant to build waits, unfinished."
"I choose to embrace both," Satella countered gently. "Our design gave us a purpose, but life gave us more. I died, Drayk, and when I opened my eyes again, I knew life is more than survival. It is a gift that lets us shape our own meaning. If I am to be the mother to what was planned, then let me also be the healer to what has been broken. Both matter. Both shape who we are meant to be."
For a moment, Drayk said nothing, the tension between them quiet but present. Then he inclined his head, accepting the words if not entirely agreeing with them. "Chasing two destinies weakens both. You risk becoming less than you were calculated to be. You risk becoming less than you were calculated to be." He drew in a slow breath before conceding, "Very well. Pursue this… expansion of self. But remember this, Satella... Life is never a gift. It is survival. And survival exists only through design and purpose."
Satella did not argue, but the warmth in her eyes did not dim. She had known death, and to her, survival was not the end of meaning, it was the beginning of choice. That truth was her gift, whether Drayk believed it or not.
They returned to their meal, the silence now heavier, but no longer empty.
=-=
Rachel Jackie Johnson
Lieutenant JG Satella Bruxa
Chief Medical Officer
USS ANUBIS
[Be careful about reading health books. You may die of a misprint. - Mark Twain]
and
Scott Grant
Lieutenant JG Drayk Val'Bruxa
Assistant Chief Engineer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Perfection is not an ideal. It is a design parameter."
"Unbalanced Equations"
Previous post: "Shared Path" by Rachel and Scott
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Sickbay
Stardate: 45029.2300
The hour was late, but Sickbay did not sleep. Monitors pulsed in calm rhythm, their tones filling the silence with a steady assurance that all was well. To T'Lara, the sound was not comfort. It was reminder. Two restored from death. Four reshaped from shadow. One hundred twenty-eight thousand extinguished in an instant. Arithmetic aligned, as Ya'Jun had claimed, yet meaning refused to balance.
She stood before the central console, hands clasped behind her back, eyes fixed on the endless stream of patient data. Logic insisted the outcome was acceptable. Yet her thoughts refused to quiet, circling back to the same unresolved equation.
The doors parted with a whisper. Satella entered with the calm assurance of one returning home. Her silver hair caught the light, soft against the starkness of the room, as if even the ship itself took note of her return.
"You are up late," T'Lara said, her voice even. "Is there a problem?"
"I have a question," Satella replied, skipping past courtesy. Her expression was calm but intent.
"Ask," T'Lara allowed, hearing Drayk's inevitability in her tone.
"I would like to resume my duties as soon as possible," Satella said, her tone warm but unwavering. "Assistant Chief Medical Officer, if you will permit it. I feel no impediment."
T'Lara regarded her with practiced neutrality. "Your scans confirm stability. Physiologically you are identical to the record of Doctor Satella Bruxa prior to your death. Yet the manner of your return remains largely unexplained. Until this mystery is properly addressed, caution remains necessary."
"Caution I accept," Satella said, undeterred. "But I am alive, whole, and my skills are needed. To stand idle while others carry the weight of recovery would be the greater danger."
Before T'Lara could respond, the doors opened again. Cristhiane entered slowly, her daughter asleep in their quarters, her own exhaustion driving her forward rather than keeping her still. She paused at the threshold, surprised to find both doctors already awake.
"It seems none of us find rest tonight," Cristhiane said, her voice quiet, heavy with more than fatigue.
T'Lara inclined her head. "Your presence here at this hour suggests unrest of thought, not body."
Cristhiane stepped closer, folding her arms as if to shield herself. "You are correct. Even free of the shadows in our blood, my daughter and I remain marked. The Tal'Shiar will not forget us. The Lokustaar may not be finished. We may never live lives that are our own. Even here, at NEW ALEXANDRIA, I wonder if freedom is only an illusion, one that could be taken from us at any moment."
Satella listened, her expression softening. "And yet you are here, alive, with her. That is not an illusion."
Cristhiane met her gaze, a flicker of defiance in her eyes. "Alive is not enough when you are always hunted. My daughter deserves more than a life spent waiting for the next shadow to claim her." Her expression shifted, defiance giving way to the kind of pain that had been with her for a very long time and left scars impossible to heal. "That is all she has ever known. I tried to shield her, to protect her, even when it meant hiding the truth about her sister. Her life has been nothing but survival, even inside the matrix. I want her to have something different. Something better."
T'Lara considered the words, her own thoughts reflecting them with Romulan suspicion and Vulcan restraint. "It is possible that what you seek cannot be given. Freedom from pursuit and hardship may not exist. What can exist is vigilance. Records will be kept. Changes will be studied. Protection offered where possible."
The three women stood in the center of Sickbay, the monitors marking the silence between their words. Each carried her own burden: Satella seeking to return, Cristhiane fearing to belong, and T'Lara unable to balance the equation at all.
The hour pressed on. Beyond Sickbay's walls, the ship slept. Within its sterile confines, none of them could. Satella longed to return, Cristhiane feared she never could, and T'Lara sought an equation that would not resolve.
=-=
Dawn Bohr
Lt. Commander T'Lara
Chief Medical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Meetings"
Previous post: "Unbalanced Equations" by Dawn
-=-=-
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge
Stardate: 45030.0700
Shar'El stepped onto the bridge expecting to see Captain Morningstar in his chair, or wandering the deck, as was his custom at this hour while the ship was docked at its home port. To her surprise, the seat sat empty. Instead of the Captain, the ExO saw Ani standing near the command station, her calm tone offering explanation before Shar'El even had the chance to ask.
"Good morning, Commander. The Captain departed earlier. He was summoned to a private conference with Admiral Koniki. The session began just after 0500 hours."
Shar'El’'s expression did not change, but the words settled heavily. Koniki did not rise before dawn to exchange pleasantries, and if he had called Erik away this early, it could not be for anything good.
"I'm guessing the Admiral was not forthcoming as to the reason or reasons for this early morning summon?" Shar'El inquired.
"Does he ever?" The ship's avatar replied, a hint of a smile forced onto her lips to help make her appear more human than her mechanical systems should allow her to be.
Shar'El gaze scanned the display of the NEW ALEXANDRIA birthing station where the ANUBIS was docked before making her way back into the turbolift, knowing that any other questions would be met with the exact same level of vagueness she had already been given.
-=-=-
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Sickbay
Stardate: 45030.0730
The room was quiet save for the steady rhythm of monitors. T'Lara stood at the center of the ward, posture precise, as though the morning itself required discipline.
"A request was submitted just before midnight," Shar'El said as she approached. "You want Doctor Satella Bruxa reinstated to active duty as Assistant Chief Medical Officer?"
"The initial request originated from her," T'Lara clarified. "I am simply formalizing it. Having reviewed her physical file, I find no objections. More than that, I believe resuming her duties may aid her psychological recovery.”
"You mean from dying and being brought back to life?" Shar'El said, finding the entire situation still extremely difficult to believe.
"I agree with your surprise, but the request is logical."
Shar'El considered the Vulcan-Romulan woman's calm assurance. "I will take it under advisement. But the decision will need to wait until the Captain returns from his meeting with Admiral Koniki. The Admiral may already have plans of his own for Doctor Bruxa. Plans that could take her away from this ship."
Neither said more, but the possibility hung in the air. It was not a common occurance to have an officer declared dead only to have them return to life a few days later through the workings of an unknown and alien device.
-=-=-
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Corridor
Stardate: 45030.0800
On her way to see Maya, Shar'El nearly collided with Adriana and Amanda as they turned a corner. The sisters slowed, Amanda close at Adriana's side, their voices low as if aware of curious ears around them, but the Ship's Counselor did not want to waste the opportunity to offer a quick status report on those who had been the most affected by their last mission.
The exchange was brief, but enough for Shar'El to take note of what she needed to know as First Officer of the ANUBIS. Jayson had buried himself in work. Satella was pouring herself into Nathan with the radiant energy of someone desperate to be needed. Ya'Han had sealed herself away in the holodeck, while Ya'Jun moved through her days as if each moment might vanish. Christie and Cristhiane appeared steady, yet the uncertainty of their future pressed heavily on them both.
Shar'El resumed her travels following a measured nod, but her thoughts lingered. Nathan's future would be tangled with all of theirs. What would happen if Satella returned fully to duty in Sickbay, or worse, if Koniki removed her from the ANUBIS altogether?
-=-=-
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 14, Microbiology Lab
Stardate: 45030.0830
The lab doors parted to reveal Maya in her element, half-buried behind a shifting wall of holoscreens. Spiraling genomic strands bled into histological overlays, their glowing layers competing for her full attention.
"The interference is remarkably precise," Maya began before Shar'El could even speak. "When the Lokustaar genetic markers were stripped away, it left behind a cascade of disruptions within the Nylaan genome. The most immediate effect is, of course, the complete loss of pigmentation control, but that is only the surface. Pigmentation in Nylaan biology is not merely cosmetic, it is tied to epigenetic triggers across multiple expression pathways. Think of it as a linguistic system encoded directly into their DNA, a cultural lexicon written into protein sequences. When you remove or scramble one letter, the entire sentence can lose meaning. In this case, the sentence reads as… blank."
She flicked one long finger toward a projection where color-coded strands danced in time with her words. "Fascinatingly, their overall viability remains unaffected. Metabolic function is normal, cell division stable, no oncogenic signatures whatsoever. It is as if the Lokustaar targeted only the pigment-linked codons, leaving the rest of the genomic framework untouched. I have considered three possible explanations: first, intentional targeting by the Lokustaar; second, an unintended cascade effect from the removal itself; third, an imposed correction by the device, which would suggest it operates by principles of equilibrium rather than simple repair. Each possibility opens entirely different avenues of research, each requiring separate modeling, some already in early draft form. If you would like, I could show you the comparative data sets on Nylaan pigmentation versus Andorian iris variation..."
"Maya," Shar’El cut in, her tone polite but firm.
The Shillian blinked, realizing how far she had wandered, then gave a sheepish smile. "Yes, well. In short, with enough time and resources I may be able to reverse the damage. Though of course, that depends on whether the damage is a true deletion, a corruption of expression markers, or an adaptive suppression imposed by external influence."
Shar'El let her finish, silently admiring the woman's brilliance while also grateful the explanation had finally reached its end. As she stepped back into the corridor, her thoughts returned to the list she carried in her mind. Satella. Nathan. Ya'Han and Ya'Jun. Christie and Cristhiane. All of them awaiting resolution, every outcome balanced on whatever verdict emerged from the Captain’s meeting with Admiral Koniki.
=-=
Tiffany Reeve
Commander Shar'El
Executive Officer
USS ANUBIS
“A Murmuration of Marines”
Previous post: “Meetings” by Tiffany
=-=
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 20, Aux Security Office
Stardate: 45030.0831
Zub Enel could hear several voices as he approached the auxiliary security office — two males and one female. Their tone was relaxed, and they were chit-chatting.
An A-grav cart hovered by the door, loaded with three overstuffed Marine sea bags covered by neatly arranged dress uniforms for when the Marines stood at attention after disembarkation.
Zub stepped into the doorway. Three Marines sat on three sides of his desk, facing his empty chair, playing cards. Boots, socks, trousers, and a uniform shirt filled the desktop. The sniper, a Terran female, was fully clothed. A massive Lurian sergeant was without boots and one sock. His engineer, a bright blue Andorian, sat barefoot in only boxers. Zub smiled, seeing no need to ask who was winning.
Surprised gasps escaped from the three sailors. Sargent Mi’Teh, callsign Ghost, leapt up and barked, “Tench Hut!”
Zub commanded, “As you were!” before the others fully reached attention.
“I were winning,” Diaz, callsign Viper, said smugly.
Ghost, the big sergeant, stepped sideways so Zub could get to his chair.
“Skip,” his blue-faced engineer said, “You look tired as hell, sir.” The nearly naked engineer, callsign Sparks, grinned, his white teeth especially bright.
The big Lurian sat beside Enel’s desk, his lips an upside-down U, “No shore leave yet Skip?”
“Pending,” Zub said. He scowled at the clothing piled on his desk.
Ghost propped his feet, missing a sock, on the desk. “Why won’t they let us off the ship, sir?”
As Zub considered an answer, all three marines watched him closely, uncharacteristically quiet.
He rubbed a three-fingered hand across his scaly head crest. “The mission was possibly unauthorized. There have been deaths, resurrections, and genetic modifications by a godlike artifact. Add in deliberate planetary invasions. High Command will look into it. You all should prepare to be deposed.”
Sparks grabbed his trousers off the pile. “I’m a Marine! Completely disposable!” He slipped them on. “That big silver-haired tank of an engineer is in for it. Right, sir?”
Ghost tossed the engineer his shirt. “In port, all military courtesies are enforced. You refer to him ONLY as Assistant Chief Engineer Drayk Val’Bruxa.”
The blue engineer sneered as he buttoned the shirt. “He’s a one-way thinker. I’m a better engineer than him.”
When Viper and Ghost guffawed, Sparks scowled. “He brought that dead doctor back to life without permission. Didn’t even ask. Ain’t that insubordination?”
Enel tossed Sparks his socks. “This whole situation is highly complicated.”
The engineer huffed, “Maybe to officers!”
Ghost asked Enel, “That thing rewired people. It used thousands of souls to do that. That’s spooky. I’m sure Counselor Lopez is glad to have her sister healed and that civilian for her daughter, but at what cost?”
In the silence, Viper looked thoughtful. “Could I trust my sister or daughter after that?” She shook her head. “If it was *me* having *my* genes ‘fixed?’” She answered herself. “All those lives. Thousands of spirits. Used up. For me.”
Enel raised a finger. “Cmdr. Maya called them ‘quantum signatures,’ not ‘souls.’ Energy without consciousness, memories, or form. What was left of those farmers was more like afterimages. Residual energy.”
Sparks asked, “Are all those relatives going to accept that little explanation from Counselor Lopez?”
Enel handed Sparks his boots. “The artifact also ‘fixed’ Lt. Ya’Han.”
“Exorcised her,” Sparks said, taking his boots.
“Broke her hair,” added Viper, her expression sympathetic.
Zub noticed several PADDs had been buried, likely incident reports. “Lt. Ya’Han will be cleared to resume her duties as Chief of Security. Lt. Stark has already returned to Ops. It's only a matter of time.”
Zub added, “She’s got a major trauma to work through.”
Mi’Teh chuckled. “You’re hoping that’s soon so she’ll take those IRs.”
Sparks and Viper laughed. Sparks said, “You’ll still be our skipper, Skipper.”
Zub smiled, grateful for the vote of confidence. He gathered the PADDs into a single pile. “Have you all been to Sickbay for a final okay to go ashore?”
Viper said, “Sure. We got all our hypos. Except plague. Dr. T’Lara said that one’d kill Sparks.”
Everyone smiled good-naturedly.
Zub said, “Our CMO was brilliant. She figured out a lot of what was going on with that device and its effects on people. I’m pretty sure she wants to continue her analysis even after they let us all off this boat.”
Sergeant Mi’Teh added, “Unless she was so good at her job that the Admiral wants her on his staff. That happens, you know. Save the day. Get kicked upstairs.”
“That’s gonna happen to me,” Sparks announced.
The three others put on serious expressions and nodded their heads slowly in unison. Too slowly.
Sparks frowned. “It could!”
“It could indeed,” Zub Enel said. He tapped the pile of PADDs. “Now I’m going to give each of you a few of these IRs to run down….”
There was a commotion of squeaking chairs and rustling clothes, and suddenly Zub was alone. He chuckled.
=-=
David Michael Inverso
Lieutenant JG Zub Enel
MCO
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
“It's all fun and games 'till someone loses an eye, then it's just fun you can't see.”
— James Hetfield
##########
"The Butterfly Effect"
Previous Post: "A Murmuration of Marines" by David
##########
"The Universe is such that a single decision can reshape the lives of billions."
— Inscription on the dedication plaque of the Temporal Drive of the USS BASTET
Setting: NEW ALEXANDRIA, Umbilical connection to the USS ANUBIS
Stardate: 45030.2020
The Native American stepped through the extended corridor connecting his ship back to the base of operations they had only just been permitted to return to. At the ANUBIS' access port, Counselor Lopez waited, her stance outwardly calm, but her nerves frayed thin. Captain Morningstar had asked for her presence without explanation, and that silence had been enough to tie her stomach in knots.
With every step Erik took closer, Adriana's throat grew tighter. The Captain had spent more than fifteen hours with the Admiral, discussing matters no one else was privy to. The fact that he had requested her only convinced Adriana that Amanda's fate had been at the center of those talks. The Counsellor's heart pounded hard enough she was certain he could hear it.
Fatigue, bordering on exhaustion, was carved deep into his face, silent testimony to the weight of the meeting with the man in charge of the ultra-secret intelligence hub known as NEW ALEXANDRIA. The demands of such a role only made things more complicated.
"Walk with me," Erik said when he reached her, his voice steady but heavy. "I need your help in evaluating certain decisions that have been required of me and my crew."
His words did nothing to ease her fears. If anything, they made her more certain she was about to lose her sister.
“"I understand why the Admiral wants Amanda gone from the ANUBIS," Adriana blurted, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "She's technically a civilian, yes, a security risk even, but I won't just stand by and let her be kicked out. If I have to, I'll resign..."
Erik stopped and turned, his dark eyes fixing on her as she spiraled toward panic. "Amanda is not being kicked off the ANUBIS. No one is, not as long as I am Captain. That is why I need your help."
--==/\==--
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Counsellor's office
Stardate: 45030.2045
Morningstar and Lopez sat side by side on the couch, the low table in front of them buried beneath a storm of PADDs.
"This is never going to work," Adriana muttered, pressing her fingertips into her temples. "Too many moving pieces. Nothing fits together."
"You can't please everyone all the time," Erik replied, his tone calm but resolute. "Still, we have to try. Like it or not, we need to approach this the way Drayk would... with absolute conviction and an understanding that there can be no other outcome other than the one we set in motion. Anything less means someone gets left behind."
Adriana swallowed hard. She met the Captain's gaze and saw the determination burning there. This was his crew, his responsibility, and he would not give up until he found a path that kept them safe.
Picking up a fresh PADD, Adriana drew a steadying breath. "All right. From the top. How do we get from Satella being back in Sickbay under T'Lara… to Christie and Cristhiane remaining aboard the ANUBIS while keeping Ya'Jun and Nathan safe, all of that without Ya'Han being subjected to a court martial?"
--==/\==--
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Observation Lounge
Stardate: 45031.0800
The lounge was fuller than usual. Captain Morningstar sat at the head of the table, hiding the wear of a sleepless night as his gaze swept across the crew.
Shar'El sat to his left, puzzlement flickering across her face. Jayson had taken his place nearby, though his eyes often strayed to Ya'Han and Ya'Jun, who lingered at the back of the room rather than at the table. Doctor T'Lara and Satella sat side by side, Drayk a silent, protective presence behind them.
On the opposite side, Gemma and Zub flanked the Captain. Amanda had taken Adriana's usual seat, with the Counselor herself standing quietly at her sister's back. Maya sat with them as well, her attention locked on the PADD in her hands.
At the far end of the table sat Christie and her mother, waiting to learn how this meeting would shape their future, if they were to have one at all.
Adriana glanced with a hint of sadness at the very back of the room where Ya'Jun and Ya'Han stood. They had been included in the meeting yet deliberately removed from the table, their posture making clear that neither truly felt they belonged here... on the ANUBIS, or in this decision.
"Thank you for being here," Erik began, taking as much of an official posture as he could. "Yesterday, Admiral Koniki made it clear that there were certain things he needed to be addressed before the ANUBIS could be considered ready for a new mission. Many of his demands were... excessive."
Shar'El's eyebrow raised as she caught snippets of memories from Erik, all of them showing that Morningstar had been much kinder than she might have been in describing the discussion with the Admiral. "Are you sure you want to do this now?" The ExO whispered to the Native American Captain.
Erik just nodded his head. "Counsellor Lopez helped me figure out how we could meet all of the Admiral's demands while still making sure that all of you are *safe*." He paused for a brief moment, acknowledging Adriana with a gentle smile. "We have one hour to review everything that we have come up with and to present the final solution to Koniki."
"You know that we will support whatever decisions you are forced to make," Shar'El offered, realizing that her not having been included had not been an omission but rather a time restraint.
Erik nodded once again, then started, his words quick and precise. "Doctor Bruxa has been reassigned to Sickbay as Assistant Chief Medical Officer under Doctor T'Lara. Lt. Val'Bruxa will be taking over as Chief Engineering Officer as Sonja had already begun working in the robotics department of NEW ALEXANDRIA. Ya'Jun will remain aboard the ANUBIS as an indispensable part of two special projects." Morningstar hesitated before the next part, knowing its weight. "Ya'Han is temporarily relieved of duty, though she has been permitted to stay on the ANUBIS as long as she fulfills her role within one of those projects. Lieutenant Enel will assume the duties of Chief of Security/Tactical Officer in addition to those of Marine Command Officer."
Jayson's shaky breathing showed that the news of Ya'Han staying was something he had been concerned about, maybe even fearful, not wanting to lose her more than he felt he was already doing. T'Lara took a moment to reach for Jayson's arm, giving it a simple yet meaningful ghetle squeeze.
Morningstar continued, "Amanda will also remain on the ANUBIS under the care of her sister, the Admiral has agreed that being surrounded by her immediate and only family is the best option for recovery following her extended stay in the Yautja Training Matrix." He paused for a moment letting the meaning of his words be fully understood by Adriana. "Lt. Commander Maya, the device will need to be transported to NEW ALEXANDRIA and be handed over to the research team of Section I. I'm sorry as I know you would have liked to continue your research, but this was a non-negotiable term from the Admiral. Instead, you will be working on one of the two special projects mentioned earlier, a project that I know you have already begun working on."
The Shillian scientist grinned as only Maya could. "The device has been completely inert since the depletion of the 128,252 singular quantum energy signatures," she noted. "I suspect that they will have even less success in understanding the device than we had without it having any power. That is why I am very much looking forward to working on this new project, which as you and Commander Shar'El are aware, I have already performed much of the preliminary research."
"Captain," Christhiane hesitantly began from the other end of the table, her quiet tone reflecting as much fear as caution. "What about us? What is to happen to Christie and I?"
"I apologize for leaving this to the end, and for not including either one of you in the deliberations," Erik offered. "As civilians with no formal ties to this ship, convincing the Admiral to let you remain was… difficult. But Counselor Lopez and I found a way. Because both special projects deal with the Lokustaar markers once bound to you and your daughter, the Admiral agreed to let you stay, on the condition that you serve as active members of the crew. Therefore, Christie Smith, you are being assigned as an Assistant Researcher, reporting directly to Lt. Commander Maya. Miss Smith, as for you, and given that Doctor Bruxa will have her hands full with her resumed duties in Sickbay, I believe that a certain young boy, whom the Admiral has also been convinced to leave in our care, will be in need of a governess. That is, of course, if you are both willing to take on these responsibilities."
Tears threatened to escape from the mother's eyes while Christie's smile was thanks enough.
A'Janni sighed. "Well, looks like that little runt is going to be underfoot for a little while longer."
--==/\==--
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Observation Lounge
Stardate: 45031.0830
The room had emptied, leaving only Captain Morningstar seated at the far end of the table, his shoulders heavy, his hands resting on the wood as though bracing against another unseen tide.
Adriana lingered in the doorway before stepping in. "You stayed behind," she said softly.
Erik's dark eyes lifted to her. "Making sure the silence feels different from the noise."
She crossed to him, settling into the chair at his side. For a moment they said nothing, letting the hush of the lounge settle around them.
"You carried them through this," Adriana said at last. "All of them. Even me."
Erik shook his head faintly. "No captain carries alone. You helped me hold the line when I needed it most."
Her lips curved in a small, tired smile. "Then we held it together."
Their eyes met, an unspoken understanding passing between them... gratitude, respect, and something steadier still.
Since his call for her to meet him at the umbilical, Adriana's chest had finally eased, something she suspected Christie and Cristhiane felt as well. Now, all that remained was to see how Ya'Jun, Ya'Han, and Jayson would weather what came next.
-=-=-
Marissa Montonera-Lombardi
Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez
Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador
USS ANUBIS
and
Francois Charette
Captain Erik Morningstar
Commanding Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
--
"I used to think it was awful that life was so unfair. Then I thought, wouldn't it be much worse if life were fair and all the terrible things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them. So now I take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe."
- Marcus Cole, Babylon 5
"The Third Project"
Previous post: "The Butterfly Effect" by Marissa and Francois
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Security Office
Stardate: 45031.1000
After the unexpected morning crew briefing, Gemma followed Zub to Ya'Han's security office. The journey to the Voth's new work area proved to be very quiet, each lost in their own thoughts. Once they arrived, Zub sat at the desk while Gemma stood before the interactive monitor, which currently displayed various tactical readouts and weapons status reports. Her reflection stared back, calm and composed, not hinting at the turmoil that raged within her mind. The list of reassignments and accommodations made sense on the surface. Every move had been logical, strategic even. But there was one absence that refused to settle.
Nathan.
"He didn't mention him because there was nothing to mention," Gwenvel gently offered.
"This is Koniki we are talking about," Anya snarled.
"Plans within plans within plan," Jinx added.
"Not to mention an overbearing need to control everything," Gabrielle noted. "How many times did we have to sabotage one of our own allies because he didn't like what they were doing?"
The question remained unanswered as Gemma noted Zub's approach, his arms crossed, golden eyes watching her in a way that only he could... and allowed to. "You've been quiet since the meeting," he said, standing just out of her immediate range. "More so than normal."
Gemma didn't turn. "Did you notice?" she asked softly. "Every person aboard accounted for, even civilians. Except Nathan. Not a word from Morningstar. Not a glance."
"Could be an oversight," Zub offered, though even he didn't sound convinced.
She gave him a sidelong look. "Our Captain doesn't make oversights. Especially not when the Admiral is watching. There's something he's not saying."
Zub pushed off the wall, coming closer. "You think it's bad?"
In a single blink, Gemma's copper curls dissolved into the long, straight golden-brown of Shykael Ren. The shift was as seamless as a breath, but the air itself seemed to tighten. Zub had not yet met this one, and already he knew the room belonged to her.
Shykael spoke with clinical calm, her tone polite but scalpel-sharp. "He might have been tired, but there was more," she began, eyes distant, replaying the briefing frame by frame. "He was filtering. Every phrase deliberate, every pause measured. When he mentioned Amanda, Christie, and Cristhiane, his jaw tightened, fractional, left side first. Emotional containment, not irritation. His gaze tracked the table, but when he looked up… he looked at me first. Half a second early. That's awareness, not chance. He wanted to see if I caught what he avoided saying." Her expression never changed as she turned to Zub. "Nathan wasn't forgotten. He was omitted. There’s a difference. The kind that never finds its way onto an official report."
Zub thought about arguing, but stopped himself. Experience had taught him that when Gemma, any version of her, spoke with that level of certainty, contradiction was just noise against the inevitable.
Gemma reasserted herself and exhaled through her nose, a faint tremor betraying the tension she tried to suppress. "Nathan's not a liability, not to the ship. But Morningstar's tone, his pauses... those weren't exhaustion. They were shows of restraint."
Zub studied her for a moment, then gave a quiet chuckle. "You really can't let it go, can you?"
"Intel officers aren't built to," she said. "When someone hides something in plain sight, it's like leaving a loaded weapon on the table. You either disarm it or figure out who it's pointed at."
He hesitated before speaking again. "You're worried about him... about Nathan."
Gemma's eyes flicked back to the display panel. "Worried isn't the word. He's been through enough already. If the Admiral or the Captain made a call that puts him at risk, I intend to know why."
Zub nodded slowly. "Just be careful. You dig deep enough, you might not like what you find."
"Story of my life," she murmured.
He offered her a faint smile. "Then I'll be in the armory when you're ready to talk about whatever it is you don't plan on telling me."
Gemma almost smiled in return. Almost. "Don't wait up."
She turned and left without another word, the decision already made, and Zub understood that this was not going to be a simple talk between Morningstar and her, it was going to be an interrogation with a very strong and personal angle, which almost made the Voth feel sorry for the Captain.
=-=
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Captain's Ready Room
Stardate: 45031.1020
Captain Morningstar was seated behind his desk, the glow from the active communications display showing the Federation logo visible on his face as the door chime rang.
"Enter," he said, almost laughing, already knowing who was about to storm in, and why.
Gemma stepped in, posture straight, voice level. "Captain."
"Lieutenant." He gestured toward the opposite chair. "I won't insult you by asking you what's on your mind. I know you well enough."
She remained standing. "That will save both of us time."
"I just ended my final report to Admiral Koniki, based on what was discussed during our meeting earlier this morning," Erik said. His expression didn't shift, but Gemma noted the microsecond delay before he continued. "You have questions, and all I can say is that Nathan's situation is... complicated."
"That's not an answer," she said through clenched teeth. "That's a cover."
The Captain’s dark eyes lifted to meet hers, steady but reflecting knowledge and wisdom she had learned long ago to trust. "Nathan, like Amanda and Christie, was locked inside that Yautja matrix and used to help train their warriors," Morningstar began. "Amanda, as Adriana's twin sister, has the imposed restriction of being under constant observation by our Ship's Counselor. Part of the agreement for Christie is that she be under equal supervision by someone who can identify minute changes in her behavior, hence why she was placed under Maya's supervision. Her mother staying aboard was just a way to ensure that Christie is, as the Admiral said," more compliant with any request made from us."
"Nathan is no different," Gemma quickly argued.
"Isn't he?" Erik countered. "Yes, he was trapped in the matrix, not as long as Amanda was, but longer than Christie. This makes it clear that the duration of his entrapment is not a variable in this."
Gemma took a few seconds to process what had been presented to her, all of her inner voices quickly narrowing the possibilities as to what was unique about Nathan to a single, unescapable point and difference. "My nanites. My sharing them with him and saving his life made him a target for the Admiral."
"That is part of the reason why Adriana and I had to figure something out, and why Cristhiane was chosen to take care of him," Erik explained.
"She's a civilian, and as such has no link or allegiance to the Admiral."
"My orders were simple," Morningstar continued. "The two of you were to be returned to NEW ALEXANDRIA. I managed to convince the Admiral that the ANUBIS, and her crew, would not be able to function as an effective part of the NEW ALEXANDRIA fleet without an experienced ILO, and that Shar'El would not be able to effectively manage both roles given the added personnel issues created by Ya'Jun, Ya'Han, and Jayson."
"You appealed to his need to maintain influence beyond the walls of this station," Gemma said with a faint, knowing grin. "A dangerous gamble. I'm honestly surprised it worked, I would have expected Koniki's obsession with control to outweigh reason, as it usually does."
Erik and Gemma locked gazes for a few seconds, after which Gemma actually smiled. "That's why Nathan is still on the ANUBIS and assigned to me as his official caregiver. He intends to control me through him: using Nathan as leverage. He would have monitored the boy's daily logs through his daytime chaperone to track my movements, my actions, my perceived instabilities, especially when off-duty."
For a heartbeat, the room seemed colder. Gemma's gaze shifted to the viewport, not to see the stars, but to keep her thoughts from spilling into her expression. It wasn't fear, it was anger, distilled and sharpened. Koniki's reach had found a new shape, and she had missed it. But beneath that failure lingered another truth she hadn't expected: Morningstar had seen it coming and moved to protect her. The acknowledgment sat uneasily between pride and something closer to gratitude. Her next breath was deliberate, a reclaiming of control.
Morningstar waited for her eyes to meet him once more before continuing. "As you said, Cristhiane has no allegiance to the Admiral. Her required daily progress reports on Nathan will be routed through the medical department, a chain of oversight Dr. T'Lara has already arranged, delegating review to her new Assistant Chief Medical Officer. Doctor Satella Bruxa, who seems to have already developed quite a liking to the boy."
"I'm... impressed," Gemma said, her expression as stone-cold as any Vulcan would allow themselves to show. "I honestly did not anticipate such astute counter-intelligence dealings from you. You are a better chess player than I had credited you to be. No offence meant."
"Non taken," Erik quickly fired back. "Being able to surprise you, even in the slightest way, is praise enough. That said, this is far from over," Morningstar said quietly. "But for now, we've bought ourselves time," Morningstar said quietly. "And sometimes, Lieutenant, time is the only kind of victory we're allowed."
=-=
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
"Designed Constants"
Previous post: "The Third Project" by Rachel
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 2, Val'Bruxa's Quarters
Stardate: 45031.1000
The morning light filtering through the viewport carried no stars, only the dull gleam of maintenance drones drifting across the massive interior of NEW ALEXANDRIA. The docked stillness of the station seemed to press gently against the hull, muffling the familiar hum of the ship.
Satella sat curled on the couch, her bare feet tucked beneath her, the soft fabric of her robe catching faint reflections from the viewport. The tea she had replicated had long gone cold, but she still held the cup between her hands, tracing the rim absently as if it contained answers she already knew.
"It feels... right," she said, finishing a thought that had begun before either had noticed it taking form. "Being back in Sickbay. Not as Chief, not this time. I can actually practice medicine again. I get to touch lives, to study, to learn, without the weight of command pressing down with every decision. It feels like breathing again."
Drayk sat opposite her, half in shadow, the dark lines of his new uniform immaculate, the double solid pips of rank at his collar catching the ambient light. His silver hair, still damp from the shower, framed a face carved in restraint. He said nothing at first, only regarded her with the quiet precision of a man dissecting a paradox.
"You were designed for more than second place," he said at last.
Satella's smile curved softly. "Second place? No. It's not a contest, Drayk. I was never meant to lead fleets or command armies. I was meant to heal. That's the design I understand best."
He tilted his head slightly, a gesture both analytical and intimate. "And I was designed to shape the universe around that design. To build what others call impossible, to engineer the improbable into form. But today, they give me a title to define it. Chief Engineer. As if the position contains what I am."
Her eyes softened as she set the cup aside. "It doesn't have to. Titles don't define what we are; they only tell others what they can call us." She leaned forward, fingers brushing against his knee, grounding him. "Let them have their definitions. We know the truth of ours."
Drayk's gaze dropped to her hand, then rose again to meet her eyes. "The truth is that we were made for something greater than this. Every cell, every calculation points toward purpose, not position. This assignment only delays the inevitable."
"Or prepares us for it," she countered, her tone calm, certain. "Balance, Drayk. The universe has a way of testing its own equations before it reveals the final proof."
He studied her face, the gentle certainty in her voice that no data could refute. "You sound like Maya."
Satella laughed softly. "Then perhaps I'm learning to appreciate her way of thinking. Science without faith is incomplete, and faith without structure is chaos. You bring one. I bring the other. Together, we create something the universe cannot easily undo."
He reached for her then, his hand sliding behind her neck, fingers tangling briefly in her hair before resting there, a single, unspoken acknowledgment. "Together," he echoed quietly. "Designed constants."
Satella leaned closer until her forehead rested against his. The silence that followed was not empty. It pulsed with shared breath, with understanding that went beyond words. Around them, the ship hummed softly, its systems alive but still, awaiting orders.
Outside the viewport, the metallic expanse of NEW ALEXANDRIA shimmered with reflected light, sterile and perfect. Within, two living contradictions found symmetry in the simplest of equations.
"I am content," Satella whispered.
Drayk's answer came like a quiet equation balancing itself. "Then so am I. For now."
Her smile deepened, knowing full well what he meant. For now was enough. The universe would make its next demand soon enough, and when it did, they would answer as one: not by chance, not by duty, but by design.
=-=
Scott Grant [tryanasazi111@gmail.com]
Lieutenant JG Drayk Val'Bruxa
Assistant Chief Engineer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Perfection is not an ideal. It is a design parameter."
"Shadows of Purpose"
Previous post: "Designed Constants" by Scott
-=-=-
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Holodeck
Stardate: 45031.1045
The holodeck was dark, silent except for the pulse of holographic emitters breathing life into mist. One by one, figures emerged: ghosts of a hundred worlds and a thousand battles. Ya’Han moved through them with surgical precision, each strike a verdict, each motion the echo of judgment. Gone was the elegance that once defined the crimson-haired warrior; no rhythm, no artistry, only the relentless certainty of execution.
At the edge of the grid, Ya'Jun watched, arms folded, eyes fixed on her sister, presence steady as stone. When the last hologram dissolved, she finally spoke.
"Father's Battle Master would not have approved of your new style."
"Why wouldn't he?” Ya'Han snapped. "Efficient. Deadly. Exactly what he wanted."
Ya'Jun sighed. "Not exactly, he taught us balance between form and grace, and never to fight when you're angry."
Ya'Han did not answer. The program reset, and new adversaries materialized around her. She drove into them again, the air filled with the echo of flesh meeting energy and the hollow hiss of dissolving holograms.
"Is it because Zub was given your post?"
Ya'Han's blade froze mid-swing. She turned sharply. "No. He's earned it. He's proven himself more than qualified time and time again."
The program resumed as her blade sliced through holographic adversaries just as easily as it would the mist at her feet.
Ya'Jun's head tilted, a faint curve at the corner of her lips. "Then it's Jayson."
This time the blade cut too deep, shattering the holographic body into particles that flickered and died. "No," Ya'Han said through clenched teeth. "He is doing everything he can to show that he still cares... that he still loves me."
There was a hint of sadness in the woman's words, one that most would have missed, but not the sister who had trained, laughed and cried with her more times than she could remember.
Ya'Jun took a slow step forward. "Yes, he does, even though you’ve shut him out completely?"
The words hit harder than any blow. Ya'Han froze mid-step; her chest rose and fell, the rhythm of her breathing louder than the hum of emitters.
"I was the reason he died," she said, her voice trembling on the edge of control. She drew a long, shuddering breath. "Because I wanted you dead."
The silence that followed was absolute. The hum of the emitters seemed to fade.
Ya'Jun didn’t move. "Then finish it. Kill me now. You've already disabled the safeties, so what's stopping you?"
Ya'Han spun on her, voice sharp as a blade. "Don't mock me."
"I'm not," Ya'Jun replied softly. "You keep killing ghosts, just never the one wearing your face."
The holodeck shimmered, and from the mist a shape coalesced, not an enemy, not a stranger, but Ya'Han herself. Long crimson hair. Steady eyes. Absolute certainty.
Ya'Han stiffened. "Computer, end program."
Silence.
Ya'Jun's voice was quiet but merciless. "You are not the only one who knows how to program a holodeck."
"This is not a game!" Ya'Han shouted.
"No, it is not," Ya'Jan confirmed. "You want truth? Fight her."
Ya'Han hesitated, her breath caught between fear and defiance, before turning to face the new opponent. A heartbeat later, the two Nylaans collided in silence. It was not combat but release, a brutal collision of truth against truth. The red-haired warrior moved with flawless precision, every motion practiced and deliberate. The black-haired one answered with chaos, striking like a storm long contained. The sound of impact echoed through the holodeck until, at last, the crimson figure faltered and fell, her image flickering before dissolving into light.
Ya'Han stood above the empty space it had occupied, chest heaving, weapon trembling in her hand.
"You think the world cast you out because of your hair," Ya'Jun said. "But you did that yourself, the moment you refused to forgive the woman you were."
Ya'Han’s eyes lifted slowly to meet her sister's. "She was a monster."
"She was our mother's daughter," Ya'Jun countered softly. "So are you. So am I. The Lokustaar didn't make that darkness, they just fed it. They used what was already there. You have spent every moment since trying to destroy that part of yourself, instead of understanding it. That is why you ran away, and why I stayed until I could no longer deal with Father's rage."
Ya'Han's grip on the weapon tightened, then loosened. "You think I can understand what I became?"
"I think you must," Ya'Jun said. "You claim to fight for redemption, but all I see is someone who cannot live without an enemy. Our people are gone. Our mother is gone. The war is over. So you fight yourself because you cannot accept peace."
Ya'Han turned away, eyes falling to the floor. "Peace is not what we were made for."
Ya'Jun’s tone softened. "No. We were the High Sovereign's daughters. Property to be sold, traded, bartered away to strengthen his empire. What we became was something else entirely."
The holodeck shifted again. The fog thickened, and from it emerged another figure, a woman older than both of them, eyes filled with the calm strength of memory. Their mother.
Ya'Han froze, the weapon slipping from her hand. It hit the floor with a soft metallic sound that seemed louder than any explosion.
"I was not supposed to survive her death," Ya'Han whispered.
Ya'Jun stepped beside her, her voice a quiet echo in the dark. "Then live for what she died believing you could be."
For the first time, Ya'Han did not respond. She simply stood there, shoulders rigid, breathing uneven. The holographic figure of their mother faded into the mist, followed by the faint shimmer of the holodeck walls as the program ended.
The silence that followed was not the silence of battle, but of something fragile, like the breath before confession.
Ya'Jun turned toward the exit, pausing only once. "You are not your past, Ya'Han. But if you keep killing it, there will be nothing left of you to save."
When the doors sealed behind Ya'Jun, Ya'Han sank to one knee, staring at the space her mother's image had filled. In the floor's dark reflection, her own face looked back, black hair, steady eyes, the faintest tremor of something new.
Not rage. Not peace. Something in between, and for the first time in her life, she didn't fear it.
-=-=-
Hanali Han
Lieutenant Ya'Han
Chief of Security / Tactical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"What Remains"
Previous post: "Shadows of Purpose" by Hanali
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 2, Ya'Han and Jayson's Quarters
Stardate: 45031.1200
Jayson expected the room to be empty.
After endless days of finding her either in the holodeck or the gym, surrounded by phantoms of her own making, he'd grown used to the stillness that lingered in her absence. The faint scent of her world lingered in the silence: a home shared, but rarely lived in. So when the sound of running water reached him from behind the frosted door of the washroom, he froze.
He almost didn't trust his own ears.
The door slid open with a soft hiss, and Ya'Han stepped out. Damp hair clung to her shoulders, black as onyx, not the bright defiant red that once announced her like a warning to the galaxy. A towel wrapped loosely around her form, her eyes downcast. She didn't expect him either.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Jayson finally exhaled, the sound breaking the quiet like the first breath after drowning. "I thought you'd still be in the holodeck."
"I was," she said softly, voice carrying a trace of exhaustion.
"I'll… give you space. Maybe grab something in the Black Hole Lounge," he murmured, though even the act of leaving her felt like another failure he couldn't bear to repeat.
"Jayson," Ya'Han quickly said, reaching out to him before recalling her hand to her side. "Please... stay." She paused, trying to resolve her own inner storm. "I left the holodeck because I needed…" Her voice faltered, searching for a word she hadn't used in years. "To stop."
The word landed like something fragile, not meant to survive outside her mind.
He took a hesitant step forward, eyes drawn not to her hair or the small tremor in her hands, but simply to her. Alive. Breathing. Here. "You don't need to explain."
Ya'Han shook her head. "Yes, I do."
She turned slightly away, fingers brushing through her wet hair as though testing the weight of her own reflection. "Every time I look in the mirror, I see someone I don't recognize. Not the daughter of the Sovereign. Not the Red Lion. Not the woman who could hold a crowd's breath with a single step. And not the one who…" her voice broke, "…killed you."
Her voice broke on the last word, quiet but sharp enough to make him flinch.
He crossed the distance between them before she could pull further away. His hands stopped just shy of her shoulders. "You didn't kill me, Ya'Han."
Her eyes lifted, dark, searching. "I did. Maybe not this version of me, but I remember it. The rage. The way it felt to lose control. I can still feel it... somewhere inside. I thought it was gone, but I don't trust myself anymore. Both T'Lara and Ya'Jun claim that we are free of the shadow markers that were embedded in our genetic code, but I can still feel it, like the echo of a voice that refuses to let go."
The pain in her voice hit harder than any Lokustaar blade ever could.
Jayson slowly placed his hand against her cheek, ignoring the faint tremor that passed through her. "The markers are gone, Ya'Han. Whatever they built into you, the poison that made you doubt your own soul, it's gone. You're not her anymore."
She looked up at him, her voice barely a whisper. "Then what am I?"
He smiled faintly, not because it was easy, but because she needed to see it. "You're you. Not what the Sovereign made. Not what the shadows twisted. Just… you. Maybe losing your Nylaan heritage isn't the end of who you were; it’s the beginning of who you can be. The woman I loved and knew was in you, no matter what color your hair was."
Her breath hitched, eyes glassy. "And if I become something worse?"
Jayson's voice dropped, gentle but unyielding. "Then I'll still be here. Not because I'm blind, not because I forget, but because I choose you. Every version. Every scar. Every fear." He paused as his smile grew just a fraction larger. "I love you... always."
A silence fell between them... thick, fragile, alive. Those had been the same words he had said to her before dying, before she realized the price the shadows had demanded of her to be their pawn in a game of galactic horror.
Ya'Han's hand rose hesitantly to his chest, fingers tracing the faint ridge of the scar beneath his uniform. "You shouldn't be able to say that," she whispered. "Not then... not now."
"I can," he said softly, pressing his hand over hers. "Because you're the reason I can say it. Because you fought your way back from a darkness no one else could have survived."
Tears gathered in her eyes but did not fall. "You make it sound like I'm worth saving."
Jayson leaned forward, resting his forehead lightly against hers. "You're the reason I came back. The reason any of this means anything."
For a long moment, they stood in silence, the hum of the ship faint beneath their breathing. The moment was not forgiveness, not yet, but the quiet shape of something that could become it.
When she finally stepped back, her expression was devoid of emotion. The tremor in her voice was gone, replaced by something smaller, more human. "I don't know what happens next."
He smiled again, this time with the weight of truth behind it. "Then we figure it out... together."
Ya'Han nodded faintly, eyes falling to the deck. The uncertainty didn't vanish, but for the first time, it didn't feel like defeat. It felt like the horizon: distant, fragile, real.
Jayson watched her disappear into the bedroom's half-light, her dark hair catching the muted glow, proof that, for now, she still existed in the same world as him.
He didn't follow. Not yet.
Some journeys began not with pursuit, but with the quiet faith that, for the first time in a long time, neither of them needed to run away from.
=-=
Jayson Sousa
Lieutenant Jayson Stark
Chief of Operations
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"End of Day Get Together"
Previous Post: "What Remains" by Jayson
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Black Hole Lounge, upper level
Stardate: 45031.1910
The lounge buzzed with a soft, restrained energy, a far cry from the bustling noise of most evenings. The ship was still docked at NEW ALEXANDRIA, and that alone lent a feeling of being held in a moment between storms. Low amber light cast warm shadows across the tables, wrapping the room in an almost domestic quiet. It was the kind of calm that felt fragile, the kind that made people speak softly without knowing why.
Adriana had chosen one of the tables along the railing of the upper level, far enough from the few scattered patrons to make their small circle feel private. It marked a small but real shift: Adriana letting Amanda step out without her hand in constant reach. It wasn't a complete letting go. She had chosen the day's activities and Black Hole Lounge because they were controlled, familiar, and above all, safe.
Amanda settled into her seat with the wide-eyed curiosity of someone stepping into a world she'd only ever dreamt about. She knew what the lounge was and what it was for, she'd been here before as a mental projection, but this time everything felt different. The subtle vibration under her boots, the scent of replicated food, the rhythm of conversations around her… they were real in a way the Matrix had never managed to mimic. She watched the people nearby like someone trying to learn a language by listening, unsure of when it was her turn to speak.
"It's strange," she said, her voice quiet enough that only the table heard. "In the Matrix, places like this were nothing more than traps and battlegrounds." She hesitated, fingers tracing the edge of her water glass. "This doesn't feel like either."
Christie leaned forward slightly, her expression softening with a flicker of recognition. "Yeah… I remember that feeling. Every time we stopped somewhere like this, it meant a fight was coming, or someone was already hunting us. You never really let your guard down." She glanced around the lounge, as if expecting the walls to shift. "But here… it's different. Quiet. Safe."
Her shoulders loosened a little, and a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Today was the first day in ages when surviving wasn't the only thing on my mind. I just… worked. Maya never stops. She talks through data like it's poetry and sees the answers before anyone else even finishes the question. It's intense… but kind of wonderful. For once, I wasn't waiting for something to go wrong. I just learned."
Her eyes warmed as she spoke, and it was the first time Adriana had seen Christie speak about the day without that defensive edge of someone ready to fight at the first sign of danger. "I kept expecting someone to call Red Alert, or a door to slam, or…" She let out a quiet laugh. "But nothing happened. I just learned. I just worked. That was pleasantly new."
Cristhiane listened to the two younger women with a faraway softness in her expression. She cradled her drink like it was a memory rather than a glass. "Nathan spent the day chasing everything that moved," she said with a small laugh. "And I didn't spend the day counting exits." She let the words linger, letting them settle into the air. "When Christie was his age, every sound meant I had to be ready to run. Every step we took felt like borrowed time. Today… I got to be a mother. Not a protector. Not a soldier. Not a fugitive. Just… a mother."
Christie reached out, grabbed her mother's hand into her and gave it a gentle, loving squeeze.
There was a quiet that followed, not uncomfortable, but reflective. Around them, a few crewmembers laughed softly at some distant table, a ripple of normalcy passing through the room. Adriana felt it settle like something fragile but real. She glanced at Amanda. Her sister was watching the others with the same quiet awe she'd once reserved for the stars. For a heartbeat, Adriana didn't see the woman shaped by survival, she saw the little girl she used to chase through the colony fields. The girl who'd had everything stolen from her before she ever got to live it.
Amanda's gaze drifted from the other tables back to the people sitting with her. It lingered on Christie first, the way it always had, but this time, something in her chest shifted. She still felt the quiet pull toward the woman who had shared the fight inside the Matrix, but for once, she looked past that pull. Past the comfort of a bond forged in survival.
Her eyes found Adriana. Not the ghost who'd haunted her memories, not the distant figure in whispered stories, but her sister. The one who hadn't stopped searching. The one who never stopped.
"It's a good day," Amanda said softly, as if tasting the words, unsure of how they'd sound in the real world. Her smile trembled, but it didn't fade. "A good day without anything chasing us."
Adriana's throat tightened at the simplicity of it. For Christie, it was a day she hadn't spent protecting anyone. For Cristhiane, a rare moment of feeling like a mother again instead of a shield. For Amanda, her first real day of freedom. And for Adriana, the beginning of learning to let go, if only a little.
She raised her glass, and the others followed without ceremony. "To today," she said quietly.
The soft chime of glasses almost vanished into the hum of the ship. But in that small, warm moment, it was louder than every shadow that had ever chased them.
-=-=-
Marissa Montonera-Lombardi
Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez
Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador
USS ANUBIS
"Unbalanced Equations"
Previous post: "End of Day Get Together" by Marissa
Setting: USS ANUBIS, CMO's Office
Stardate: 45031.1940
The office was quiet, but not entirely still. Power coursed through the ship's structure like a restrained pulse beneath metal and glass, a subtle vibration that reminded anyone listening that motion, and vigilance, never truly ceased.
T'Lara sat behind her desk, posture as precise as the instruments arranged along the wall behind her. The office reflected her dual heritage in quiet symmetry. Vulcan order shaped every line and polished surface, while the subdued lighting and deep green accents lent the room a controlled warmth, Romulan restraint, not indulgence. Efficiency met grace, discipline met instinct.
Shar'El stood just inside the doorway, arms folded lightly behind her back, a stance that betrayed both professionalism and hesitation. For once, she had not come seeking a formal report. Yet she needed one all the same.
"Commander," T'Lara greeted without rising. "I presume this visit concerns Doctor Bruxa."
Shar'El inclined her head slightly. "You presume correctly. I would prefer a verbal assessment. How has she performed since being reinstated to full duty as your assistant?"
The Vulcan-Romulan hybrid tapped a brief command into her console, though it was unnecessary. She already knew every answer by memory. "Doctor Bruxa completed all assigned duties with precision. Her rounds were thorough, her reports timely, and her interactions with patients and staff consistent with pre-mortem behavioral baselines. She shows no physiological abnormalities. Psychologically, she presents as stable and engaged. All data suggests she has resumed her role as if the... interruption never occurred."
"That's exactly what concerns me," Shar'El said quietly.
T'Lara's eyes lifted from the console. "You believe her behavior to be abnormal because it is normal?"
Shar'El gave a small, dry smile. "Something like that. Most of us are still struggling to process what happened. Two of our officers came back from death. Everyone aboard knows it, even those who pretend not to think about it. And yet Satella..."
"...has not faltered," T'Lara finished, tone even. "Her composure is admirable, not suspicious."
"Admirable," Shar'El echoed, but her gaze drifted. "Or unnatural. You’ve seen the way she moves through Sickbay, the way she talks to people. She's... brighter. More present. It's as if death refined her instead of breaking her."
T'Lara leaned back in her chair, folding her hands. "Perhaps it did. The human experience, mirrored in certain Mikulak philosophies, often romanticizes death as a threshold. It is possible that Doctor Bruxa has simply chosen to embrace life with greater conviction."
Shar'El looked at her closely, the faintest narrowing of her eyes betraying the quiet scan of a trained Intel operative. "You sound almost impressed."
T'Lara allowed the comment to pass without visible reaction. "I respect efficiency in all its forms. Survival is the highest form of adaptation. Doctor Bruxa has adapted."
The silence that followed hovered at the edge of discomfort, weighted with unspoken parallels. T'Lara noted them all: the controlled breath, the fractionally tightened shoulders, the defensive calm of someone who had lived too long behind classified truths.
"You appear unsettled," T'Lara observed. "Not by Doctor Bruxa's recovery, but by something else."
Shar'El straightened, instinctively defensive. "Old habits," she said, voice low. "You spent time in Intelligence. You know how it is. We're trained to see what doesn't belong. Patterns. Disruptions. And right now, everything aboard this ship feels… misaligned."
T'Lara's brow lifted a fraction. "You refer to the crew."
"All of them," Shar'El replied. She began to pace slowly, her voice steady but thoughtful. "Zub is now Chief of Security, and though he's more than capable, that shift alone changes the tone of every bridge exchange. Ya'Han is adrift, doubting who she is, whether she can be trusted again. Jayson remains at her side even after she killed him on NYLA IV, as if his loyalty refuses to acknowledge logic or consequence. Ya'Jun seems lighter, almost free, as if shedding royalty gave her the first breath of her life. Amanda walks these halls unshadowed, and Cristhiane has somehow turned motherhood into governance. Christie buries herself in research with Maya, searching for a cure that logic says may never come."
T'Lara's gaze sharpened. "It will not come."
Shar'El paused. "You sound awfully certain."
"I am cautious," T'Lara corrected. "Current data indicates the genetic damage inflicted upon Ya'Han and Ya'Jun is, by all measurable standards, irreversible. Maya's research is admirable, but molecular degradation of that magnitude cannot be undone through conventional means. To persist in the illusion that it can be repaired risks introducing false hope. Hope, while a useful stimulant, is not a substitute for truth. And in Ya'Han's case, it could be counter-productive."
Shar'El exhaled slowly, half in frustration, half in reluctant agreement. "You sound like you've made peace with that."
"Acceptance is not peace," T'Lara replied, tone steady. "It is logical... efficient. Denial consumes energy better spent on adaptation."
Silence held for several seconds, broken only by the steady cadence of monitors: the quiet heartbeat of the department.
At last, Shar'El spoke. "I miss the simplicity of mission parameters. Intel was easy by comparison. You deal with information, not emotion. Here, everything's personal. Every life aboard this ship is connected, every wound shared."
"That connection is the ship's strength," T'Lara said. "And its vulnerability. The equilibrium we maintain functions like a living system. Remove one element, and every other must recalibrate to preserve the whole. You sense imbalance because the crew is still recalibrating. It will take time."
Shar'El studied her, lips pressing into a faint, thoughtful line. "You make it sound mathematical. Maya would approve."
T'Lara inclined her head slightly. "All systems are mathematical when viewed without sentiment."
A soft laugh escaped Shar'El then, brief, but genuine. "And yet sentiment is what keeps us alive."
"An intriguing paradox," T'Lara admitted.
Shar'El turned toward the door but did not move to leave. "You see it too, don't you? This isn’t the same crew that went to NYLA IV. They're all different. We all are."
T'Lara rose, hands clasped behind her back. "Change is inevitable, Commander, even for those who believe themselves immutable. The equation has shifted, but it remains solvable. The variable you fear may not signify chaos, it may signify growth."
Shar'El gave her a long look, one officer to another, one analyst to another. "You’d make a decent counselor, Doctor."
T'Lara's expression softened by an imperceptible degree. "Logic and empathy are not mutually exclusive. Merely difficult to balance."
Shar'El nodded once, her composure regained. "Then perhaps we’ll find balance again, in time."
As the door slid open, she paused briefly, glancing back. "Keep me informed about Satella. If anything, anything, changes, I want to know."
"Understood," T'Lara replied.
The door closed, leaving the physician alone once more in the quiet harmony of her office. Her eyes lingered on the console for a moment, then on the reflection in the glass wall opposite her desk.
For all her words about logic, even she could not dismiss the quiet unease threading through her thoughts. Life and death were no longer constants aboard the ANUBIS; the equations had shifted beyond measurable limits.
And T'Lara, despite her discipline, knew that Ya'Jun had been right: balance always demanded a price.
=-=
Dawn Bohr
Lt. Commander T'Lara
Chief Medical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Reflections of the Same Hour"
Previous post: "Unbalanced Equations" by Dawn
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Gemma's Quarters
Stardate: 45031.2330
The quarters were quiet, too quiet.
Gemma stood in the doorway to the second bedroom, one hand resting against the frame. The ship's dim night lighting painted the edges of the room in soft amber. Nathan lay asleep on the bed, his breathing slow and steady, his small hands tucked under his chin. He looked peaceful. Innocent. Unaware of the chaos that had nearly ended both their lives.
She had faced assassins, shapeshifters, and entire regimes bent on destruction without blinking. Yet the sight of a sleeping boy, one who depended on her, left her uncertain in a way nothing else had.
Finnja's voice surfaced softly, "He's just a child."
Anya followed with a scoff, "Children grow into liabilities."
Wimdalli added, clinical and detached as any respectable scientist would, "Human unpredictability, condensed into one small form."
Gemma silenced them all with a thought. None of them knew what this meant. None of them could. She had spent her entire life adapting, surviving, becoming whatever the mission required. But this? There was no protocol for this, no programmed or emergent persona to take control of the situation.
The steady vibration of a power conduit in the corridor thrummed behind her, mechanical and familiar, the only heartbeat she trusted.
Zub's voice echoed from memory, calm and confident, the way only he could be when the world tilted out of balance. "You've done the impossible before. You can do this too."
Gemma let out a slow breath, her gaze still fixed on the boy. She didn't feel like someone who could care for a child. She didn't even feel human most days. How was she supposed to protect him in a universe where death lurked in every shadow? How long before someone realized they could use him against her?
Her jaw tightened.
Protecting him was one thing. Loving him... she didn't know how to do that.
=-=
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Val'Bruxa and Bruxa's Quarters
Stardate: 45031.2330
Satella leaned against the frame, her silver hair catching the soft light from the room beyond. Drayk lay on the bed, the faint rise and fall of his chiseled chest steady as the rhythm of a calm sea. The air still carried the faint scent of sterilizing agents from Sickbay, mixed with something warmer, something that felt like life.
A smile touched her lips. Not of triumph, but of awe. She had been dead. She had felt the end. And now she was here, breathing, seeing, feeling. Every moment was a gift.
Her fingers traced the curve of the doorway, a small, human motion grounding her in the now. She thought about what came next: the duty she had been born for. The progenitors had engineered her to heal, to nurture, to preserve life at all costs. Being a mother should have been as natural as her next breath. Yet the thought of it filled her with a quiet fear.
Creation was not healing. Healing repaired what had been lost; creation demanded flawlessness. One misstep, and generations could pay for it. She could not allow that.
Drayk's faith in her was unshakable. His belief that their union was destiny, absolute. Without her, he said, the universe lost its balance.
Satella wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that she was ready to carry that responsibility, to bring new life into a universe still trembling between chaos and order. But what if she failed? What if her very design, the one that made her capable of love, also carried the seeds of ruin?
She closed her eyes and whispered a quiet promise to no one but herself. She would not falter. Not this time.
=-=
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Gemma's Quarters
Stardate: 45031.2332
Gemma exhaled, arms crossed tightly as she leaned against the wall. She studied the boy's still form, his chest rising and falling with the same calm rhythm she'd heard countless times before in others. But none of those had been her responsibility. None of them had been hers.
For a brief moment, she imagined what it might feel like to reach out and brush his hair aside, to feel warmth instead of calculation. But the thought frightened her more than any mission ever had.
The Deadly Spider didn't cradle anything she couldn't kill.
Her reflection in the darkened glass stared back: controlled, expressionless, almost alien. Yet somewhere beneath the layers of conditioning, the nanites, and the shifting identities, something stirred. Something dangerously close to wanting.
Gemma turned away from Nathan's room, the door whispering shut behind her. She pressed her back against the wall, letting the silence wash over her. Her thoughts refused to settle.
=-=
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Val'Bruxa and Bruxa's Quarters
Stardate: 45031.2332
Satella moved closer to Drayk, sitting quietly beside him. She watched his face, the way his features barely softened in sleep, the way life seemed to hum through him with purpose.
Her hand hovered above his, not touching. She was alive because of him, yes, but also because of something greater than either of them. Balance. Fate. Whatever the universe decided to call it.
She thought of the life they might one day create, of the child who could carry both their legacies. The idea filled her with hope and dread in equal measure. Love was her nature, but creation, creation was consequence. She had to be certain. There could be no margin for error.
Satella, half a ship away, rested her head lightly on her folded hands. The same silence filled her quarters, but for her, it felt peaceful. Whole.
=-=
Setting: NEW ALEXANDRIA, USS ANUBIS Docking bay
Stardate: 45031.2335
Somewhere within the ship, two doorways closed in silence, their echoes fading into the same night in which a doctor and a soldier found themselves at odds. One wanted to cherish. The other wanted to control. And somewhere between those instincts, she searched for grace.
Two women, bound by circumstance and opposite in design.
One questioned how to love in a universe forged by conflict.
The other feared how to create in a universe prone to error.
And yet, in that same hour, both stood at the same precipice, wondering if they could ever become more than what they were made to be.
=-=
Rachel Jackie Johnson <racheljackiejohnson@gmail.com>
Lieutenant JG Satella Bruxa
Chief Medical Officer
USS ANUBIS
[Be careful about reading health books. You may die of a misprint.] - Mark Twain
and
Rachel Jackie Johnson <racheljackiejohnson@gmail.com>
Lieutenant Gemma
Intel Operative
USS ANUBIS
[The fun is getting to wear multiple disguises and getting to explore multiple personalities and bring them to life.] - Jenna Fischer
"Morning Light"
Previous post: "Reflections of the Same Hour" by Rachel
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Val'Bruxa and Bruxa's Quarters
Stardate: 45032.0550
The light of simulated dawn eased through the compartment, diffused and warm against pale metal. Drayk Val'Bruxa moved with quiet precision, each motion measured and exact. The breakfast table stood ready, every element aligned with geometric intent. To another, it might have seemed obsessive; to him, it was purpose made manifest. Order was his language, and this act of service its purest expression.
He worked in silence, aware of the faint change in temperature that marked her waking. Satella stirred before the ship's clock reached six, drawn by the scent of food, not replicated, but made by his hand.
"You were awake early," she said, her voice soft but playful as she rose. The sound carried an ease that belonged only here, within these walls.
"I do not sleep deeply," Drayk replied, without turning. "You came to bed late. You seem to forget that I was designed to be a light sleeper, a protector, especially when you are near."
Her smile widened as she crossed to him. "And you seem to forget that I am a doctor. I prescribe rest, even for engineered perfection."
He glanced at her then, steel-blue eyes steady, the faintest shadow of amusement touching their edge. "Rest is inefficient when there are better uses for the morning."
Satella tilted her head, watching him as he finished plating the meal. She saw the precision in every motion, the restraint in every word. Beneath that surface, she also saw the devotion. He would never say it aloud; his design required no declarations. Yet every motion, every detail, declared it all the same.
"I didn't want to wake you," she said softly, settling beside him. "There were things on my mind."
He set the final plate down and met her gaze. "I am here now. Whatever weighs on you, you do not need to bear it alone."
Satella's expression softened. She could have told him the truth, that her thoughts had turned again to what they were meant to do, to the children their creators had intended them to bring into being. But she could not. Not yet. The idea filled her with something deeper than fear, something close to reverence. Creation was her gift... and her reckoning.
So she smiled instead, tracing a fingertip along his wrist before pulling her hand back. "Just thoughts. Old ones. They lose their weight in daylight."
Drayk studied her for a long breath. The silence between them was not empty but alive. He knew she was deflecting. He chose not to press. Respect was part of his design, but this choice was not born of programming. It was born of her.
He sat across from her, the gesture deliberate, calm. "Then daylight serves its purpose."
She laughed quietly, the sound bright in the stillness. "You make it sound as if the sun answers to you."
"It answers to design," he said, his tone without irony. "Perfection is not an ideal. It is a design parameter."
Satella shook her head, still smiling. "And yet, somehow, you make it feel like love."
He looked at her for a moment, then lowered his gaze to the meal he had made for her, not for efficiency, but for comfort. "Because it is."
The quiet that followed was not the absence of sound, but the presence of peace, of the calm after equilibrium is restored. They ate together in that shared stillness, each aware of the other's unspoken thoughts. He, the protector who had once failed to protect. She, the healer afraid to create.
Between them, there was no need for words. Balance had already been restored, not by chance, nor by command, but by the simple act of being together.
=-=
Scott Grant
Lieutenant JG Drayk Val'Bruxa
Chief Engineer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Perfection is not an ideal. It is a design parameter."
-=-=-
"Morning Distraction"
Previous post: "Morning Light" by Scott
-=-=-
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Holodeck
Stardate: 45032.0600
The holodeck air shimmered faintly as the safety protocols came online. A simulated sunrise stretched over the holographic watery horizon, bathing the training grassy field in a soft amber glow. At 0600 hours, the ship was still quiet, at least outside of the holodeck set on a nature-based training exercise.
Ya'Han stood at the center of the clearly rectangular field, breathing evenly as her bare feet embraced the dew-covered grass, eyes closed. Her hair, still black, clung to her shoulders, a constant, visible reminder of what she had lost. She had come to the holodeck early, as she had done every morning since her return to the ANUBIS, hoping that motion might bring her clarity. That by moving her body, she could silence the noise in her head.
But clarity refused to come.
She heard the doors to the holodeck part behind her and knew immediately who it was.
"Right on time," she said without turning.
Zub Enel's deep voice rumbled across the grassy mat. "Of course. You'd have my head if I was late."
She opened her eyes and smirked faintly. "Thank you for being here and willing to train with me."
"Of course," he replied, stretching his scaled arms and flexing his three-fingered hands. He tapped the chest of his mocha-brown, light armor, which glinted in the morning sun. "Doctor’s orders,” he said by way of explanation. Despite his expert hand-to-hand combat rating, Dr. T'Lara had tired of fixing broken bones and deep tissue bruises from sparring with other senior officers. He took on a martial arts stance, positioned his fists on either side of the armor on his hips, and fixed Ya'Han with a determined, golden-eyed stare.
In the dewy grass, they circled each other in easy silence for several moments before the first strike came.
Ya'Han moved first, a blur of grace and control born from years of royal training and battlefield experience. Her right foot slid forward, her center of gravity dropping as she pivoted into a strike meant to test rather than harm. Zub blocked it easily, his scaled forearm checking her momentum like stone meeting silk.
They separated, only to clash again a heartbeat later. This time, the rhythm shifted, her speed against his power. The air between them cracked with the sound of controlled impact: wrist meeting wrist, elbow grazing armor, breath drawn and measured.
Zub stayed close, but circled. This wasn't the fiery-haired, twirling Ya'Han he knew; all art, grace, and fury while delivering a relentless storm of blows and kicks. She now fought coldly, precisely, like Gemma.
Ya'Han's movements were sharp, practiced, her footwork flawless, but her mind wasn't where it needed to be. The black hair swaying with every motion seemed to mock her precision. It wasn't just a color; it was a symbol she hadn't yet made peace with. Among her people, black was the color of the commoner, the powerless. Every time she caught a glimpse of her hair, she felt the ache of that truth.
Zub saw a barely perceptible slowness in her timing, the half-beat hesitation before each strike, the fraction of a second lag where her mind didn’t seem fully focused on the motion. He could have taken advantage of her apparent distraction and blocked blows quicker and thrown better blows, but he didn't. And it was not out of courtesy or chivalry.
He realized he felt the same pull on his attention himself. Having to take a nanosecond to push aside thoughts of the boy Nathan made his strikes come slower than usual, his blocks less certain. Each attack or defense came freighted with self-evaluative thoughts of the awkwardness of adapting to a life of fatherhood he didn't choose; Gemma, who seemed more burdened by motherhood than comforted by it.
"Something on your mind?" he asked, following the latest ill-timed block.
"Too many things," she said, resetting her stance. "Trying to forget most of them."
"Same."
His admission took Ya'Han by surprise, a momentary lapse that Zub instantly tried to use to gain an advantage. Despite her distraction, though, she recuperated quickly enough to avoid the obvious ploy.
They stepped apart, circled in the grass like old-fashioned pugilists with arms and fists at the ready, and moved in again, the clash of skill against strength echoing softly in the holographic breeze.
Ya'Han's technique faltered for a breath when her thoughts drifted to Jayson, to her sister, to the color her hair would never show again.
Across from her, Zub knew in the back of his mind that his strikes once again came slower, that his focus was elsewhere. Part of his mind sparred with a different problem. Gemma. Nathan. The strange bond he hadn't expected to share with either.
Both sparring partners were present in body only.
When their fists met midair, the impact rang hollow.
For a long moment, they stood there, arms locked, eyes meeting in quiet understanding, both realizing each other’s distraction.
"Let's rest and reset before one of us gets hurt by a careless move," Zub said. He took a step back.
Ya'Han exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "We're both off today."
Zub offered, "Maybe we shouldn't be here right now... Maybe it would be best for us to get our thoughts in order first."
"Maybe that's exactly why we should be here." She moved again, slower this time, deliberately grounding herself. "You ever feel like the universe keeps reminding you of what you've lost or what is right there just beyond your grasp?"
The tall Voth's reply was quiet. "Every day. I just try not to let it see me flinch."
She paused, studying him. "How's that working for you?"
He gave a wry, toothy grin. "Ask me tomorrow." He bent his knees and raised his arms in a forward curve, striking a kung fu pose. “Heron dance?”
The sparring resumed, lighter now, less about precision and more about rhythm, two people chasing focus and finding fragments of it in the dance. There were no winners here, only two soldiers trying to steady themselves before duty demanded more.
As they finished the last sequence, Ya'Han straightened, breath coming slow and even. She reached for a towel, her tone softening. "Ya'Jun keeps telling me that distractions eventually fade if we allow them to."
Zub nodded. "Maybe. Or maybe those distractions are what keep us going."
She met his gaze and gave a faint, knowing smile. "Well, then I guess we're both doing just fine."
Zub bent toward her in a slight bow. “Thank you for sparring with me, Ya’Han.” He made sure he used her name because, at times, he suspected she felt like a non-person. “Let’s spar again. And soon.” He smiled and headed through the swaying grass toward the holodeck door.
-=-=-
Hanali Han
Lieutenant Ya'Han
Chief of Security / Tactical Officer (Not!)
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
and
David Michael Inverso
Lieutenant JG Zub Enel
Acting Chief of Security / Tactical Officer (Neener neener)
MCO
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
"Unexpected Signal, Part 1"
Previous post: "Morning Distraction" by David and Hanali
-=-=-
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge
Stardate: 45032.1120
The bridge was quiet. Docked within the secured confines of NEW ALEXANDRIA, the USS ANUBIS rested in near perfect stillness. Only the faint background of maintenance on various power conduits and the occasional chime from a console disturbed the fragile peace.
From her station behind the Captain's chair, Commander Shar'El monitored the flow of routine reports scrolling across her console. Each line told her exactly where her people were, what they were doing, and that, for the moment, everything was finally calm.
Gemma was deep within the IGC, lost in the endless stream of intelligence reports that never truly ceased. Jayson Stark was at the Operations station a few meters away, methodically verifying every power system, his expression focused and steady. At the helm, A'Janni lounged with one elbow propped against his console, boredom written openly across his feline features as he reviewed the ship's navigational diagnostics for what had to be the third time.
In Sickbay, Doctor T'Lara and Doctor Satella Bruxa were speaking with Amanda Lopez, who seemed almost at home there now. Adriana, her twin and the ship's Counselor, was in her office, likely watching over her sister’s recovery as closely as she did the rest of the crew's.
On the lower decks, Chief Engineer Drayk Val'Bruxa was knee-deep in his latest project, upgrading the starboard power relays with his usual precision. Zub Enel was overseeing combat drills with the MACOs, a routine he never allowed to grow dull or complacent. Maya was in the Bio-Chemistry Lab with Christie Smith, both focused on their latest research into Nylaan genetics, while Cristhiane Smith kept a close eye on Nathan in the ship's arboretum.
Even Ya'Jun had found her peace for the moment, sitting quietly by herself on the upper level of the Black Hole Lounge.
Shar'El allowed herself a slow breath. It almost felt as if the universe had forgotten about them, leaving the ship in an uneasy stillness. Yet beneath that calm ran a tension she knew too well, the kind that settled in just before the next storm. Chaos, after all, was woven into every corner of the cosmos.
Her dark eyes flicked to the Captain's chair. It was empty, as expected. Morningstar was in his ready room, reviewing reports and finalizing mission summaries for Starfleet Command. The aftermath of their last ordeal still lingered, a web of unfinished debriefings and quiet emotional scars. The Ullian Commander could feel them all: the ripples of exhaustion, recovery, and uncertainty threading through every deck of the ANUBIS.
Then it happened.
A muted tone echoed from her console, low and deliberate, unmistakable to anyone who had ever served under the authority of NEW ALEXANDRIA. The channel identifier appeared in sharp clarity: STARFLEET INTELLIGENCE PRIORITY TRANSMISSION, ENCRYPTED LEVEL OMEGA.
Shar'El straightened, hands moving with trained precision as she authenticated the signal. The moment the encryption cleared, the source flashed across the screen.
Admiral Koniki. Of course.
The message was short and precise. No room for interpretation, no comfort in delay. Whether they liked it or not, their reprieve from chaos was over.
Before she could even call for him, the doors to the ready room parted. Captain Morningstar stepped onto the bridge, padd in hand, his expression already confirming that he had received the same alert.
Their eyes met briefly across the quiet bridge, neither needing to speak the obvious. Orders from Koniki were never routine.
Shar'El exhaled quietly, one corner of her mouth lifting in something that was not quite a smile. **Here we go again,** she thought.
Morningstar moved to the center of the bridge, his voice calm but carrying the unmistakable weight of command.
"Yellow alert! Recall all personnel to duty stations. We are departing immediately."
Shar'El turned back to her console while the status lights flashed, watching as system after system came online at her command. The soft thrum of the engines deepened beneath the deck plates. The ANUBIS was waking up.
"Umbilical connections are being withdrawn," Stark reported from the Operations station.
"Those who were caught in NEW ALEXANDRIA are making their way to the nearest transporters," Shar'El added.
"We have been cleared for departure," A'Janni reported, his ears flicking with visible eagerness. The Caitian always came alive when something finally broke the routine.
-=-=-
Setting: NEW ALEXANDRIA, external view of the USS ANUBIS docking bay
Stardate: 45032.1130
Docking clamps disengaged with a resonant hiss. Navigation lights brightened to full intensity. The ship eased backward, clearing the moorings that had held it in place since its return to its home port.
With uncanny ease and precision, the SCARAB-CLASS ship pivoted to face the massive space doors that were already sliding open... a silent hint as to the urgency of the latest mission the ship and crew had been tasked with. Thrusters engaged, pushing the ANUBIS forward through the emptiness of the NEW ALEXANDRIA docking area and towards the cold and hostile emptiness of space.
-=-=-
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge
Stardate: 45032.1131
Morningstar stood tall at the center of the bridge, the light from the main viewscreen painting his features in shades of blue and silver.
"Helm, as soon as we have cleared the asteroid field, set a course for the JELOVAAN SYSTEM," he ordered.
Shar'El's fingers moved across her console, confirming the plotted course. The familiar hum of the warp core filled the air like the sound of a heartbeat returning to life.
"The last of the crew members who were still in NEW ALEXANDRIA have been beamed aboard," Stark reported.
"Good," Morningstar nodded as he watched the space doors vanish to either side of the main view screen, confirming that the ANUBIS had officially left.
"All stations have reported in," Shar'El noted.
A'Janni's claws danced over the flight controls. "Course set, Captain. The ship is at half impulse and will clear the asteroid field in less than ten seconds."
Morningstar gave a single nod and silently counted down in his head. When the count reached zero, he settled into his chair. "Engage at maximum warp."
What came next was a sight that had been seen countless times before, and yet never ceased to enchant those who witnessed it.
The stars stretched into lines as the ANUBIS leapt forward into the unknown at maximum speed.
Behind the calm professionalism in her expression, Shar'El felt the familiar weight settle on her shoulders once more. The calm had ended. Whatever waited for them in the JELOVAAN SYSTEM would start another chapter in a story that never truly stopped.
And so, the USS ANUBIS left the safety of NEW ALEXANDRIA, bound once again for shadows yet unseen.
=-=
Tiffany Reeve
Commander Shar'El
Executive Officer
USS ANUBIS