USS ANUBIS - Mission 28
Genetic Legacy
Genetic Legacy
POST INDEX
| Post # | Character | Title |
| 001 | Shar'El | New Captain, New Mission Shar'El takes command of the ANUBIS |
| 002 | Ya'Han | First Officer, First Duty Ya'Han takes on the responsibilities of ExO |
| 003 | Val'Bruxa | Time to Focus Drayk oversees final repairs to the ANUBIS |
| 004 | T'Lara | Genetics T'Lara reviews the SFI reports |
| 005 | Enel | Boys and Toys Zub tests the new IRET drones |
| 006 | Maya | Scientific Accuracy Maya analyzes the sun of the BENTHARAN system |
| 007 | Gemma/Ya'Han | Tactical Intel Ya'Han visits Gemma in the IGC |
| 008 | Stark/A'Janni | Silent Orbits The AUBIS arrives at the research facility |
| 009 | Val'Bruxa | By Design Drayk speaks with Ya'Han about Satella |
| 010 | T'Lara | Medical Debate T'Lara and Satella discuss the genetic research |
| 011 | Shar'El | Mission Briefing Shar'El briefs the crew as to their mission |
| 012 | Lopez | Quiet Anger Satella vents to Adriana |
| 013 | Stark | Silence Is Not Natural Jayson speaks and encourages Ya'Han |
| 014 | Gemma | Intel Preparations Gemma checks in with Drayk |
| 015 | Ya'Han | Don't Look Back The away team steps into the boading pod |
| Post # | Character | Title |
| 016 | T'Lara | Where Life Was Unmade T'Lara thinks about the mission they are on |
| 017 | Val'Bruxa | Fluidic Motion The away team enters the facility |
| 018 | Stark | Seven Meters A nightmarish scenery is discovered |
| 019 | Enel | Gellyfish Eel-like creatures are observed |
| 020 | Ya'Han | Evidence of Something Worse The away team reaches the control room |
| 021 | Val'Bruxa | The Evidence of Force Drayk anaklyses the damage in the control room |
| 022 | Gemma | Powerless Gemma watches everything from the IGC |
| 023 | Maya | Unexpected Biological... Maya confirms there is another creature |
| 024 | Stark | Stability Threshold Jayson initiates a power transfer |
"New Captain, New Mission"
Previous post: "Time to Irradiate" by David
-=-=-
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Observation Lounge
Stardate: 46224.1310
Everyone had gathered in the Observation Lounge at Shar'El's request, yet the chair at the head of the table remained empty. Ten minutes had passed, enough time for unease to settle in.
"Is everything alright?" T'Lara asked, logic and efficiency demanding an explanation for Shar'El's absence.
"Admiral Koniki demanded that she immediately beam over to the HATHOR," Ani reported. The mention of the Admiral's name silenced the room. Several gazes drifted toward the windows, toward the HATHOR, its presence impossible to ignore even now. The vessel had already made the journey several times to bring help and parts the moment the ANUBIS had been able to get a subspace signal out. The news that the Admiral had come along during this latest journey was unsettling.
"Of course he came," Gemma signed. "One of his three primary ships was crippled and lost its Captain. I am honestly surprised he waited this long."
"Why now?" A'Janni asked aloud. "It's been over 100 days since the ANUBIS was disabled. With all of the new systems including upgraded warp coils brought over by the HATHOR, we are able to return to NEW ALEXANDRIA. Why would the Admiral choose to wait until the last minute to show up?"
"Control," Val'Bruxa noted. "We were immobile. That ensured compliance without the need for direct involvement."
"Now I remember why I am not a big fan of his," Adriana whispered a little louder than she had wanted to.
That was when Shar'El stepped into the Observation Lounge, the woman looking somewhat frazzled by her meeting with the Admiral. She paused at the threshold, letting her gaze sweep the room. The familiar patterns were there, the unspoken tensions just beneath the surface, but her attention settled on the empty chair at the end of the table.
"I am sure you all have many questions," Shar'El said as she eased herself into the vacant chair, looking across the room to the ship's avatar. "I will answer as many as I can. Before we proceed though, protocol must be observed. Ani, as per Admiral Koniki's order Anubis-2-1-5, I have officially been appointed as the Commanding Officer of the USS ANUBIS and promoted to Captain."
A round of applause and congratulations filled the room but Shar'El stopped it by raising a single open hand.
"Following a long, and heated discussion, Ya'Han has been officially appointed as First Officer and promoted to the rank of Lieutenant Commander." A few nods followed. A hand touched Ya'Han's shoulder in passing, Jayson's. No applause came this time, only quiet acknowledgment. Shar'El paused as she turned to look at the black-haired NYLAAN woman. "I had to negotiate heavily with him, so this appointment is temporary and will be personally reviewed at the end of our next mission by him."
"I understand," Ya'Han nodded. "Thank you."
"Good," the Captain continued, this time focusing on the Voth Marine Commanding Officer who had been standing in for Ya'Han at her old post. "Lt. Enel, the position of Chief of Security and Tactical Officer is yours. You will maintain your link and command over the Marines, but your duties and responsibilities will require you to be on the bridge on a more permanent basis from this point on."
A cautious smile formed on the man's reptilian lips. "That will not be a problem, Captain."
"Alright, next," the Captain continued. "The ANUBIS has received new external support systems. Twelve Iret Drones are already in orbit."
"They are a wonderful addition to the ship's sensor array," Maya announced. "The Iret drones can be easily moved, either individually or as a group, to improve sensor resolution and targeting."
Shar'El couldn't help but smile at Maya's scientific enthusiasm. A great deal had changed aboard the ANUBIS, but it was nice to see some things gradually returning to the way they were before.
"That is not the only thing those beauties can do," Jayson added with a grin. "They possess holographic emitters which we will be able to use to help even further hide the ship beyond the ablative cloaking armor. So instead of trying to be 'nothing', those drones will be able to project sensors and visual images of pretty much whatever we need."
"I have also looked into the technical specifications of the Iret Drones," Zub said. "Although they do not possess any offensive tactical capabilities, they do have the ability to focus and reinforce our shields, which could prove useful in combat situations."
"What about engineering?" Shar'El said, moving the meeting forward.
"The new warp coils have been installed. Thanks to the assistance and parts brought over by the HATHOR, all repairs have been completed. The ship is back to full operational status."
"Yes!" A'Janni cheered, unable to contain his excitement. After over 200 days, the Caitian FCO had become desperate for some flight action, hence why he had adopted a routine to taking a VIPER out once every couple of days.
Shar'El took a moment to breathe and let all of the announcements settle.
"Now that the ANUBIS is back to full operational status, and we have a full command staff, the Admiral has given us a new mission. We are to travel to the BENTHARA system and investigate a Legaran orbital research laboratory."
"Wait?" Satella gasped. "Legaran? As in the reclusive race of gastropods?"
"What are we doing looking into a bunch of scientifically minded slugs?" A'Janni said, the thoughts of the race alone making his fur crawl.
"Although the Legarans joined Starfleet in 2368, they maintained their highly reclusive ways to this date, rarely venturing outside of their own star system," Gemma explained. "Why would they set up a laboratory hundreds of lightyears away from their homeworld?"
"They were doing research in conjunction with the Starfleet Science Department and the Vulcan Scientific Academy. Due to the nature of the work, and required habitat, only the Legarans were stationed on the orbital laboratory."
"I can see why," Christie dryly chuckled. "The Legaran require a viscous organic fluid environment for movement and nourishment. Anyone other race working there would have to be working in environmental suits."
"I suspect that the viscous organic environment was, in some way, an integral part of the research," Maya suggested. "As I recall, the BENTHARAN system has some very unique solar activity, which the fluid environment might offer some additional protection against."
"Maybe so," Shar'El acknowledged, clearly not having been given any details regarding the research conducted in such an environment. "All we know is that the laboratory went silent three days ago. No distress call. No warning. Just silence."
=-=
Tiffany Reeve
Commander Shar'El
Commanding Officer
USS ANUBIS
"First Officer, First Duty"
Previous post: "New Captain, New Mission" by Tiffany
-=-=-
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge
Stardate: 46224.1325
"You got this, Lieutenant Commander," Jayson murmured as he leaned in slightly while the senior staff filtered back onto the bridge.
Ya'Han drew in a slow breath and held it for a heartbeat longer than necessary, as if letting it go too soon might undo her. The bridge looked exactly as it always had. The lighting. The background sounds of systems. The familiar rhythm of voices and displays. Nothing had changed. And yet, somehow, everything had.
She stood for a moment at the rear of the bridge, grounding herself, then moved forward with measured steps to the station positioned just behind and above the Captain's chair. From here, she could see everything. Every console. Every officer. Every reaction. It was a vantage point she had never occupied before, and the weight of it settled across her shoulders, heavy with questions she did not yet have answers for.
To her right, Jayson was already seated at Operations, his focus professional, his presence steady, as if he had no doubt she belonged here, even if she still did doubt it herself. To her left, Zub's massive form filled the tactical station, a quiet and reassuring constant. At the helm, A'Janni sat forward in his seat, ears twitching with barely restrained anticipation, a physical reminder that forward motion was finally possible again. The Caitian Flight Control Officer looked more than ready to put the long months of immobility behind them.
Ya'Han felt it before she saw it. A shift. A pause. She turned just in time to catch Gemma as the ILO exited the bridge. Their eyes met for only a second, but it lingered longer than it should have, sharp and unmistakable. This was not trust. This was not confidence. It was a warning. Professional, political, and personal, all bound together.
This was not a promotion earned through comfort or consensus. It was one born of necessity. Temporary. Conditional. Closely watched. She could almost hear the unspoken question beneath it all: would she fail, again?
Admiral Koniki did not need to be present on the bridge for his shadow to be felt. It never did, but somehow the new First Officer felt it pressing in now, tightening with every breath.
Ya'Han forced her focus forward and stepped closer to the tactical station that had once been hers. The familiarity there steadied her, bringing with it a faint and unexpected sense of joy, followed quickly by the ache of knowing how much had changed.
"Zub," she said, offering a genuine smile. "I am glad it is you on Tactical. It is good to know the ship is in capable hands."
The Voth inclined his head slightly, a simple gesture carrying quiet respect.
"Course plotted and laid in for the BENTHARAN system," A'Janni announced, his voice sharp with excitement. He was ready, even if the moment carried heavier weight for others.
"Propulsion systems green across the board," Jayson followed smoothly. "Lieutenant Val'Bruxa confirms full warp capability."
"Tactical systems ready," Enel reported, his tone calm and assured. Hearing it from him eased something tight in Ya'Han's chest, enough that she almost forgot to keep her expression composed.
She straightened as she returned to her station, hands settling lightly in position. This was the moment. The first time her voice would carry the authority of this position. She was not ready, but readiness had never been the point. "The Iret drones have been retrieved and secured in their designated array docking bay," Ya'Han said, her voice steady and clear. "All systems report ready for departure, Captain."
She let the words settle, aware of every ear on the bridge, of the scrutiny that extended far beyond it.
Every decision would be a test. Every command scrutinized. Every thought challenged, mostly by herself. She needed to prove herself capable and worthy of the trust she had been given. To prove she was no longer the shadow-imprinted person they had been forced to endure. She could not step away now. Not without proving every doubt justified, and every ounce of faith misplaced. This was a fresh start, and she intended to treat it as such.
-=-=-
Hanali Han
Lieutenant Commander Ya'Han
Executive Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Time to Focus"
Previous post: "First Officer, First Duty" by Hanali
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Main Engineering
Stardate: 46224.1345
Main Engineering, and the ship as a whole, no longer sounded like a wounded animal.
The deep harmonic thrum of the warp core had returned, steady and exact, its cadence no longer compensating for missing systems or improvised bypasses. Matter and antimatter flowed along containment channels that were finally behaving as designed, their interaction no longer constrained by damage control contingencies or borrowed tolerances. This was not recovery. This was restoration of intended function.
Drayk Val'Bruxa stood at the primary engineering console, one hand resting lightly against the interface, fingers moving in short, deliberate sequences. His attention was not on the warp core itself. It did not require watching. The equations had already confirmed compliance. Power curves were clean. Containment fields held within expected variance. Reaction efficiency was climbing exactly as predicted under pre-warp load.
The design functioned again.
Behind the environmental barrier, Cristhiane Smith stood with Ethan at her side, both safely removed from the operational floor. She kept one hand resting on the boy's shoulder, more a reminder than a restraint. Ethan did not speak. He barely breathed. His eyes were fixed on the vertical column of blue-white energy contained within layers of forcefields and magnetic geometry beyond his comprehension.
Drayk was aware of them without looking. He had not invited them. He had not objected either. Denial would have raised questions. Questions would have reached Satella. That outcome was inefficient.
"Lieutenant Val'Bruxa," Cristhiane said quietly, careful not to project her voice beyond what was necessary. "We will stay out of the way."
"You already are," Drayk replied without turning. "Remain where you are. Do not cross the barrier."
Ethan nodded immediately, a sharp, obedient motion. His awe did not diminish. If anything, it intensified.
"What is happening now?" the boy asked, his voice low and tentative.
Drayk continued working as he answered.
"The warp core is increasing reaction density in preparation for field translation," he said. "Matter and antimatter are being brought closer to maximum sustainable interaction without breaching containment. The energy produced will be redirected into the warp field generators embedded within the warp coils. Space will deform. The ship will move without locally exceeding relativistic limits."
Ethan frowned, trying to follow.
"If containment fails," Drayk added, "everyone aboard dies instantly. There will be no warning."
Cristhiane inhaled sharply, then steadied herself. Ethan did not look away.
"He's only a child," Cristhiane argued in a whispered tone.
"We both know that the universe is cruel. Nothing is served by hiding that fact from him."
"Oh," the boy said softly.
"That outcome is not expected," Drayk continued. "The system has been tested. Repaired. Reinforced. It is operating within its original design parameters for the first time in over two hundred days. Risk has been reduced to acceptable levels."
"Acceptable to who?" Cristhiane asked before she could stop herself.
Drayk finally turned his head slightly, just enough to acknowledge her presence.
"To reality," he said. "It does not negotiate."
The deck vibrated as power routing shifted. Status indicators across the console resolved into clean alignment. No warnings. No compensations. No lies.
"Engineering to bridge," Drayk said calmly. "Warp core reaction stable. Power flow optimal. You may proceed."
A'Janni's voice came back almost immediately, barely containing anticipation. "Acknowledged. Standing by."
Drayk returned his full attention to the console. His role was not ceremonial. This was not a moment to observe. It was a moment to verify.
Shar'El was in command. Ya'Han held the title of First Officer. Those were administrative truths. Necessary ones. Whether they would endure was a matter for performance, not declaration. The coming mission would test them. This moment did not, it tested the ship.
"Initiating warp ignition sequence," came the call from the bridge.
The warp core flared, energy output surging precisely as calculated. Containment fields tightened. Space itself began to strain in anticipation.
Ethan's breath caught.
Drayk did not look up.
"Ignition confirmed," he said, his voice even, exact. "The design holds."
=-=
Scott Grant
Lieutenant JG Drayk Val'Bruxa
Chief Engineer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Perfection is not an ideal. It is a design parameter."
"Genetics"
Previous post: "Engineering" by Scott
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Sickbay
Stardate: 46224.1400
The ANUBIS was on its way to the BENTHARAN system. By all accounts, life aboard the ship had returned to normal, yet Sickbay was quieter than usual. Not empty, but subdued, as if the ship itself were holding its breath.
T'Lara stood at the central medical console, hands folded behind her back as streams of data scrolled across the display. At first glance, the files were unremarkable. Gene mapping matrices. Adaptive protein chains. Comparative cellular resilience studies. The kind of work that filled Starfleet research archives by the terabyte.
And yet, she had asked Christie to stand beside her.
The civilian assistant leaned against the edge of a biobed, arms folded loosely, eyes moving between the data and T'Lara's face. She had learned long ago that the real story was rarely on the screen.
"The Legarans did all of this out there?" Christie asked. "No support staff. No visiting teams."
"The Legarans live and operate in a viscous fluid," T'Lara replied. "The research environment required conditions incompatible with most humanoid physiology."
Christie tilted her head. "That is the official answer."
T'Lara allowed a fractional pause. Then she expanded the display, isolating a secondary data layer. The genetic models shifted. The baseline assumptions changed.
"These studies were not focused on Legaran biology," she said. "They were comparative."
Christie straightened. "Comparative how?"
"Adaptability. Survivability. Resistance to environmental and biological extremes."
Her fingers moved again, precise and deliberate. New identifiers appeared. Species classifications buried beneath layers of neutral terminology.
Christie's breath caught. "Lokustaar."
The word carried weight in the stillness. Christie did not look away from the screen. She had seen enough of the aftermath to understand what that name implied.
"And that one?" she asked, pointing to a designation she did not recognize.
T'Lara's gaze hardened, just enough to be noticeable if one was looking for it.
"A non-humanoid race that exists in another dimension, known as fluidic space. Species 8472."
Christie frowned. "I have heard the name. Never in detail."
"That is intentional," T'Lara said. "Their genetic structure does not conform to conventional humanoid or non-humanoid frameworks. They are highly resistant to both biological and technological interference."
"Let me guess," Christie said quietly. "Someone wanted to know how to break that."
"Or how to survive them," T'Lara replied. "The distinction is often academic."
Christie finally turned to look at her. "Starfleet signed off on this?"
"The Starfleet Science Department and the Vulcan Scientific Academy provided oversight," T'Lara confirmed. "Starfleet Intelligence monitored the project. They did not intervene."
Christie snorted softly. "That usually means they were waiting to see if it worked."
"It means they were gathering data," T'Lara corrected. "As was their mandate."
Her attention returned to the BENTHARAN system schematics. The star dominated the display, its surface in constant flux.
"The BENTHARAN sun exhibits unstable neutrino emissions and persistent subspace harmonics," she continued. "Under controlled conditions, those emissions can induce genetic micro variations without immediate phenotypic expression."
Christie stared at the star. "So you can change something without it knowing it has been changed."
"Precisely."
"That is," Christie searched for the word, then gave up, "not comforting."
"It is efficient," T'Lara said in a clearly Vulcan tone. Then, after a moment, "Which makes it dangerous," she added, defaulting back to a more Romulan voice before she closed the files, the data vanishing into neat, ordered silence.
The cadence of the CMO's last words sent a shiver down Christie's spine, stirring memories she preferred to leave buried.
"They were not attempting to create new life," T'Lara added. "They were attempting to understand how existing life adapts under pressure. To predict. To prepare."
Christie's voice dropped. "And now the lab is silent."
"Yes."
Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
Christie broke the silence first. "You really think we are walking into something bad."
"I believe," T'Lara said carefully, "that whatever they were studying may no longer be confined to theoretical models."
Christie exhaled slowly. "Great."
A soft chime sounded from the corridor. Voices passed outside Sickbay. The ship moved steadily toward its destination, unaware or unconcerned with the implications unfolding within its hull.
Christie glanced toward the door. "I heard Ya'Han took the ExO seat today."
"The bridge layout does not allow the ExO a seat," T'Lara pointed out calmly. "But the essence of your statement remains accurate."
"Temporary?" Christie added.
"All positions are temporary," T'Lara replied.
She turned slightly, her expression shifting, more pensive, more Romulan. "The most effective officers are rarely unmarked by their service. Experience leaves scars. Failure leaves deeper ones. We learn most from our mistakes."
Christie studied her. "You trust her?"
"I trust her because she has failed," T'Lara said. "And because she survived it."
That, more than any commendation, was the closest thing to Vulcan approval.
T'Lara returned her focus to the dormant display. Somewhere ahead, a silent laboratory waited, orbiting a star that rewrote life in whispers rather than screams.
The Vulcan/Roluman CMO quietly suspected that the silence was not an ending, but a warning. A hint to an unknown and possibly terrifying danger that the ANUBIS and its crew were rushing to confront, as they always did.
=-=
Dawn Bohr
Lt. Commander T'Lara
Chief Medical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
=-=
“Boys and Toys”
Previous post: “Genetics" by Dawn
=-=
Setting: USS ANUBIS,
Stardate: 46224.1405
Zub Enel, the golden-eyed, 7-foot-tall lizard man at Tactical, grinned as he steered with a finger a holo-image of the new Iret Drones in a tight circle between his duty station and the forward viewscreen. The real drones were packed away, but he wanted more hands-on time so he could use them smoothly when needed. He’d modified his console to project a manipulatable image of one.
The viewscreen made a fine backdrop that showed the ANUBIS at warp. Stars slid by rapidly. He moved his finger to the left, expecting the image of the holodrone to follow, but it froze in place. He moved his finger more emphatically. The drone remained frozen. He glanced down at the drone control display on his console. A name flashed on the display as the controller. A name that wasn’t his.
“A’Janni!” Zub said peevishly to the big tigerlike man at the helm.
The hulking, one-eyed white tiger smirked at him. “I need to practice with it since I’m the one who will be flying it.”
Enel scowled. “Why this one? You have eleven others to play with.”
“But this one is up and running.” The drone glided to Zub’s right and moved forward, hovering closer to the Caitian Flight Control Officer.
Zub’s scaly face grew redder. Scales prickled on his cheeks. His scowl grew fiercer as he brought his bony headcrest down to his nose. “Get your own!”
Chief Science Officer Maya called sharply from the Science station. “Alight you two, don’t make me get the spray bottle.”
Zub glowered at the Shillian scientist and then at the furry drone-stealing pilot. A’Janni looked highly smug. The drone circled his head.
Zub realized the little spat was distracting the CSO from her long-range scans and studies of the approaching BENTHARAN star system. He decided to cut his losses. He huffed out a breath and waved a three-fingered hand at the helm. “Okay, Lt. Lazy Bones,” Enel said. “You can have that one, and I’ll set up another one for me to practice with.”
“Don’t fly it into mine, ‘k?”
Zub decided to act more like his role as Chief Security Officer and ignore the goading and gloating. There was plenty of time before they arrived at the target star system to try to figure out why the Legaran orbital research laboratory there went silent. He’d have plenty of practice with the drones before they were really needed.
=-=
David Michael Inverso
Lieutenant Zub Enel
Chief of Security/Tactical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
“Don’t be discouraged. It’s often the last key in the bunch that opens the lock.”
– Anonymous
---
"Scientific Accuracy"
(Previous Post: "Boys & Toys")
---
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 13, Corridor -> Stellar Cartography
Stardate: 46224.1425
Maya did not so much leave the bridge as escape it.
The banter between Zub and A'Janni followed her halfway down the corridor, rising and falling in volume like an uncontrolled waveform, and by the time the doors to Stellar Cartography slid open she felt as though her thoughts had been shaken loose from any useful alignment. She stepped inside and let the doors close behind her, sealing out the noise and restoring a level of environmental calm that the bridge had not offered her since they had gone to warp.
The lights were dimmed. The holographic sphere of the BENTHARAN system hung at the centre of the room, its star a slow burning presence at the heart of a carefully ordered planetary ballet.
Christie was already there and looked a little puzzled by the way Maya had entered the room. The young woman stood near one of the auxiliary consoles, sleeves rolled up, a padd resting against the edge as she compared incoming sensor data against archived reports. She glanced up as Maya walked in and gave a small, rueful smile.
"I thought you might end up here," Christie said. "I was just going over the early survey data again. Why do so many systems get flagged as unstable? Sometimes, it feels like the universe enjoys false alarms."
Maya did not respond immediately. Her attention had already locked onto the stellar model. She moved closer, fingers dancing through the air as she adjusted the projection, peeling back layers of data until the star's behaviour resolved into nested cycles and colour-coded harmonics.
"This," Maya said at last, with the tone of someone correcting a long-standing and deeply irritating misconception, "is not instability."
Christie shifted her weight. "It reads like instability."
"That is because you are looking at it through a temporal window that is far too short," Maya replied, already accelerating. "The BENTHARAN sun exhibits long-period neutrino cycling coupled with subspace resonance baselines that operate on overlapping timescales. If you sample it for days or even weeks, the output appears erratic. Spikes. Dips. Phase drift. Extend the dataset to decades, and the pattern resolves itself with remarkable precision."
She expanded the model again. The star bloomed outward, threads of light tracing repeating arcs that folded back on themselves with almost elegant regularity.
"Stellar equilibrium does not require simplicity," Maya continued. "It requires balance. This star maintains that balance through complexity rather than uniformity. Every emission peak corresponds to a compensatory trough elsewhere in the cycle. Every apparent anomaly is accounted for within the larger predictive framework."
Christie frowned slightly. "You are saying it only looks unstable if you do not know what you are looking at."
"I am saying," Maya corrected, "that it is one of the most predictably behaved stellar bodies I have seen outside of a controlled simulation. The frame of reference needs to be decades, possibly centuries, not weeks and months."
That earned a pause. Christie glanced back at her padd, then at the star. "That is not how it was described in the initial mission briefs."
"No," Maya agreed. "Because those briefs relied on partial observational data and heuristic warning flags designed to err on the side of caution. Starfleet sensors are very good at telling you when something is unusual. They are less good at telling you when unusual is also normal."
She rotated the system, highlighting the orbital path of the Legaran research facility.
"This is precisely why the Legarans chose this system," Maya said. "A star with highly energetic outputs that are nevertheless mathematically modelled to an extraordinary degree. Predictive stellar modelling here does not approximate behaviour. It anticipates it."
Christie's expression shifted, a flicker of discomfort crossing her face. "I assumed the viscous environment was to protect them from radiation variability."
Maya glanced at her then, truly looking. "It does protect them," she said. "But not from chaos. From consistency. This was not a research variable put into place in case of something, but rather as an integral part of a predictable system. A perfectly managed design." She paused for a brief moment before smiling. "This kind of systemic elegance would appeal to Lieutenant Val'Bruxa."
She gestured again, calling up comparative charts. "When you conduct high-risk biological or genetic research, you eliminate variables wherever possible. You do not choose a volatile system. You choose one that will behave tomorrow exactly as it behaved yesterday, and exactly as it will behave a year from now. That way, when something changes, you know it was not the environment that did it."
Christie swallowed. "So all of the reports about unstable emissions..."
"Were misinterpretations," Maya said, more gently now. "Understandable ones. Without long-term datasets, even experienced analysts would flag this system as hazardous. The Legarans simply had the patience and the mathematical frameworks to see the whole picture. It is also likely that Starfleet Research never felt compelled to correct the assumption, as it conveniently discouraged unwanted attention."
She fell silent then, staring at the facility's marker as it traced its unbroken orbit.
"If the star is stable," Christie said slowly, "and the system is stable."
"Yes," Maya softly nodded in agreement, her thoughts having already explored the significance of this realization. "And the lab still went silent."
Her hands lowered, the projection freezing in place. The earlier energy in her posture drained into something more rigid, more controlled.
"Then nothing external failed," Christie said, the implication settling heavily between them. "No flare. No resonance cascade. No environmental spike. No stellar event."
Christie looked at the star again. It burned on, indifferent and exact.
"That means," Christie continued, "whatever happened..."
"Happened inside," Maya finished as she drew a slow breath, eyes never leaving the silent facility. "Which is far more concerning than any unstable sun."
The BENTHARAN star continued its elaborate yet perfectly predictable dance, utterly unconcerned with the absence of voices from the structure that had been built to use it. Neither Christie nor Maya found any comfort in that.
---
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)
"Tactical Intel"
Previous post: "Scientific Accuracy" by Jessica
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Array Section, Deck A-4, IGC
Stardate: 46224.1445
Although the IGC was an integral part of the USS ANUBIS and its mission profile, to Gemma, it never truly felt like part of the ship. But she was not complaining.
Bulkheads were thicker here. Lighting was dimmer by design, angled to reduce glare rather than comfort. Sound carried differently, absorbed instead of echoed, as if the space itself discouraged casual conversation. Consoles formed a loose ring around the central tactical table, each one staffed by an Intel technician who knew better than to look up unless addressed. Fingers moved. Data flowed. No one spoke.
Gemma stood at the main control station overlooking all others, hands clasped behind her back, posture relaxed in the way that only came from absolute control. Multiple layers of holographic projections hovered in front of her, a skeletal outline of the Legaran research facility slowly rotating, its true scale difficult to grasp without reference markers.
The doors slid open behind her and Ya'Han entered without hesitation.
Gemma did not turn right away. She watched the reflection instead, the faint distortion of the ExO's form across the curved surface of a dormant display. Black hair. Pulled back. Controlled. Still, her gaze lingered on it longer than was necessary.
Ya'Han noticed. Of course she did. Her training as a Chief of Security had not been forgotten following her promotion to ExO.
"Thank you for coming," Gemma said at last, her voice even, precise. No rank in the greeting. No warmth either. "I asked you here so we could discuss the tactical approach."
Ya'Han stepped closer to the primary station, eyes flicking briefly to the technicians before settling on the projections. "In the IGC instead of the Observation Lounge," she said quietly. "I assume that was intentional."
"It removes variables," Gemma replied. "And distractions."
Anya approved. **Keep her off balance. Force her to expose her weaknesses.** This was a hunting ground. Chosen terrain mattered.
Gemma brought the facility into sharper relief. What had first appeared as a compact orbital station unfolded into layered structures, overlapping chambers and radial corridors wrapped around a dense core.
"It is deceptively large," Gemma continued. "Approximately three times the internal volume suggested by external scans. Legaran construction favors compression through curvature rather than linear expansion."
Wimdalli stirred, fascinated. **EVA suits are designed for vacuum or toxic environments, not for this.** Fluid dynamics. Pressure tolerance. Structural cohesion under sustained external stress.
"The entire interior is flooded," Gemma added. "A viscous organic medium required for Legaran mobility and metabolic regulation. Think less water, more suspension gel. Movement speed for humanoids will be reduced by at least sixty percent, possibly more depending on suit calibration."
Ya'Han studied the projection. "That kind of drag will cripple standard squad tactics. Formation integrity will be hard to maintain. Zub is not going to enjoy this."
"It will be impossible," Gemma corrected calmly. "The fluid density will cause micro lag in limb response. Reaction times will be inconsistent across individuals. We plan for autonomy, not cohesion."
Something reckless smiled somewhere deep inside. **This is going to be fun.** Isolate. Divide. Survive.
Ya'Han nodded once. "Then we need hardline comms. Subspace transmission will degrade in that medium."
"Already accounted for," Gemma said. A secondary layer appeared, highlighting suit modifications. "Tight beam laser comms for short range. Burst encoded transmissions only. Anything continuous risks interference from the solar harmonics. This does mean that the away team will be required to maintain line-of-sight."
Gwenvel murmured caution. **Never going to work. People will get distracted, maybe even scared. This entire scenario is a nightmare given form.** Too many variables. Too many unknowns. Gemma ignored her.
"And weapons?" Ya'Han asked. "Energy discharge in a viscous medium will diffuse. Projectile weapons will suffer velocity loss."
"Correct," Gemma confirmed. "Phasers will be set to narrow pulse, high frequency. Short range only. Kinetic options will be limited to magnetically assisted flechettes for penetration. Blades remain viable."
Shinral grinned. **Everyone will be slowed down, including whatever may be waiting for us there.** Any combat would be personal. Efficient.
Ya'Han exhaled slowly. "This is going to be slow. Exhausting."
"And disorienting," Gemma added. "Visual distortion will be significant. Depth perception will be unreliable. Motion sickness is likely during the initial insertion."
Ya'Han's jaw tightened as her fingers pushed aside the black strands that had slipped loose. Gemma's eyes flicked to her hair again. Just a glance, but long enough.
**Control your tells, Lieutenant Commander,** Kael whispered.
Ya'Han met her gaze this time. Did not flinch. "You are assuming worst case across the board."
"I am assuming realistic case," Gemma replied. "The facility went silent without a distress call. No environmental breach. No power spike. Whatever happened did not announce itself."
Silence settled between them. Even the technicians seemed to slow.
"You do not believe we are walking into an evacuation scenario," Ya'Han said.
"No," Gemma said. "No distress signal. No evacuation pods. I believe we are walking into something that does not want to be found."
Wimdalli considered the research. Adaptation. Survivability. Something learning.
Ya'Han folded her arms, thoughtful. "If resistance is encountered, command authority will fall to me." Ya'Han said, evenly.
Gemma inclined her head a fraction. "As it should."
The words were correct. The tone made it a test.
"And you will follow orders," Ya'Han added, not confrontational, simply stating fact.
"I will follow orders that keep the team alive," Gemma replied. "As I always do."
Their eyes locked for a brief moment. Something passed between them. Not trust. Not forgiveness. Just cold, precise, understanding.
Ya'Han broke the stare first. "You are not holding anything back."
"No," Gemma said. "Knowledge is leverage. But it is also responsibility. Everyone goes in informed."
Gwenvel approved, softly. This was care, buried beneath ice.
Ya'Han gave a slow nod. "Then we are aligned."
"Against the unknown," Gemma agreed.
The facility rotated silently between them, orbiting a star that whispered change into everything that came too close.
When the briefing concluded, Ya'Han stepped back, offered a short, respectful inclination of her head, and turned toward the doors, which closed behind her with a muted hiss.
Gemma did not move. She watched, studied, and reviewed everything that had been said, cataloguing micro-expressions and the not-so-hidden tells.
She remained where she was, eyes returning to the projections, listening to the low whispers of the IGC. This was her domain. Her battlefield.
Somewhere ahead waited a fluid-filled maze wrapped in secrets.
And Gemma intended to be ready.
=-=
Hanali Han
Lieutenant Commander Ya'Han
Executive Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
and
Rachel Jackie Johnson
Lieutenant Gemma
Intel Operative
USS ANUBIS
[The fun is getting to wear multiple disguises and getting to explore multiple personalities and bring them to life.] - Jenna Fischer
"Silent Orbits"
Previous post: "Tactical Intel" by Rachel
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge
Stardate: 46225.1115
The ANUBIS dropped out of warp with controlled precision, the warp field collapsing in a clean ripple across the forward arc.
The distant stars snapped back into sharp white points across the viewscreen as normal space reasserted itself around the ship as the BENTHARAN system greeted them with silence.
A'Janni's hands remained steady on the helm as he eased them to impulse. "We've dropped out of warp. Establishing one-quarter impulse to bring us to relative plane with the fourth planet."
The fourth world came into view along the lower edge of the screen, a muted sphere of rock and dust tracing its orbit in silent obedience to its star.
"The facility is in a mirror orbit solution from that forth planet," Ya'Han stated from her position just behind and above the Captain's chair.
Her voice was calm. Measured. It carried differently now.
Jayson smiled upon hearing it. He had always known her voice. In command briefings. In combat. In quiet moments that belonged only to them. Now it held something new. Authority shaped by trial. Not borrowed. Not temporary in the way Admiral Koniki intended. Earned in ways that could not be undone.
He forced his focus back to his console.
"Calculating counter position relative to planetary vector," he replied. "We will match orbital period and inclination opposite the fourth planet in twenty seconds."
A'Janni's ears gave a slow flick. "Course laid in."
The ANUBIS slid into position, the BENTHARAN star between them and the far side of the orbital path.
"Nothing unusual on long-range sensors," Zub reported from Tactical. "The Legaran research facility is exactly where it is supposed to be: on the opposite side of the sun, perfectly matching the orbit of the fourth planet. Bearing zero mark two three four. Range: point zero six Astronomical Units or approximately 9 million kilometers."
"Confirming no spatial distortions, subspace shear, or gravimetric anomalies," Jayson added. "Local spacetime curvature is within expected tolerances."
The image resolved on the viewscreen.
The Legaran Orbital Research Facility hung in darkness against the corona of the star. All eyes were on the displayed image.
No running lights.
No rotating gravity sections.
No visible emissions.
It was intact. Whole. And wrong in a way that defied immediate explanation.
"Magnify," Shar'El ordered quietly.
The structure expanded across the screen. Curved architecture wrapped tightly around a dense central core. Docking ports sealed. External arrays folded inward as if the station had withdrawn into itself.
"Power readings?" Ya'Han asked.
Jayson scanned across multiple bands. Electromagnetic. Thermal. Subspace.
"Residual structural charge only," he reported. "Sensors are not detecting any active power grid. No environmental systems. No shields. The facility appears to be in full lockdown and completely powerless."
The word 'completely' lingered longer than it should have.
"Has there been any recent ship activity in the system?" The Captain's displeasure was evident. There were too many questions and no answers.
Zub shook his head slowly. "Negative. No warp signatures within a full light year. No impulse trails either. No artificial transmissions. The system is quiet."
The silence pressed against the bridge like pressure against a hull: invisible, but undeniable.
Jayson initiated the next sequence without being prompted. "Recommend deployment of the IRET drones before we get closer. We can construct a full sensor lattice around the facility without committing the ship."
Shar'El gave a single nod. "Proceed."
From the dorsal array section, twelve IRET drones launched in controlled succession. On the bridge, Zub's earlier mock combat between practice units was replaced by real telemetry feeds as the drones fanned outward in coordinated arcs.
In the IGC, Gemma would already be watching, refining, and filtering for any useful intel. In Stellar Cartography, Maya would be carefully analysing the telemetry, while on the bridge, Jayson absorbed the incoming streams of structural data from the facility.
"Drones are establishing a network around the facility," he said. "Extending resolution across all spectrums."
The facility sharpened into layered detail. Hull plating showed minor micrometeoroid scoring consistent with several days without shield protection. Docking clamps were locked in sealed configuration. No structural breaches detected.
"It looks perfectly intact," A'Janni cautiously observed as a visible ripple flowed over his white fur.
"Yes," Jayson confirmed. "No signs of external attack. No weapons damage."
"Can we get an internal scan?” Ya’Han prompted.
He adjusted for stellar interference and the density of the station's internal medium.
“That thing has a thick shell," he noted with a sigh. "I will need to use the IRET to try and get a usable link to the facility's internal sensors."
"Do it," Ya'Han confirmed, glancing at Jayson for only a brief moment to offer a more personal smile that lasted less than a heartbeat.
"IRET interface established," Jayson reported, unable to completely suppress the edge of satisfaction in his voice. "I have access to the internal sensor array. No power, but the IRET can still perform a passive scan using the internal sensor interfaces."
The Legarans required a viscous organic environment to survive. That environment was still present. The scans showed the internal medium filling the corridors and chambers exactly as designed, and undisturbed. "The thick atmospheric medium appears stable. No power emissions," Jayson continued. "Temperature is dropping slowly. No motion. No vibrations of any kind.”
"Can we transport through it?" Shar'El asked.
Jayson did not hesitate. "I would not recommend it. The density and bio-organic composition of the internal medium would destabilize the annular confinement beam. Pattern integrity could not be guaranteed. A direct physical connection will be required."
Zub's golden eyes narrowed at the display. "No power. No distress call. No signs that any of the escape pods were launched..." The Voth allowed for the unspoken uncertainty to hang through the bridge.
A'Janni leaned slightly forward. "If something had caused them to go silent, we would see damage. If something internal had forced an evacuation, there would be evidence."
"But we see nothing," Ya'Han finished.
Jayson let his gaze drift upward towards her for just a moment. She stood straight, shoulders squared, absorbing the information without flinching. The weight of the room settled on her, and she did not bend beneath it.
Ya'Han had been broken more than once. Shattered in ways none of them would ever fully understand. Now she stood in the ExO position and faced the unknown without hesitation.
His devotion did not need words. It lived in the way he checked every sensor return twice. In the way he filtered potential threats before they reached her screen. In the quiet certainty that whatever waited inside that silent structure, he would see it first. In the way he trusted her judgment completely.
"The central star remains within predicted emission cycles," he added, routing Stellar Cartography data into the composite display. "No recent flares. No neutrino surges. No external environmental event that would explain what we have found here."
This echoed what Maya had already concluded. Whatever happened, happened inside.
The drones continued their silent orbits of the facility, feeding high-resolution scans back to the ANUBIS.
"Captain," Jayson said after a final sweep. "The drones have confirmed that the facility's external and internal structures are stable. No hull breaches. No power. No life signs. Not even residual bioelectric traces. No external interference detected. All indications suggest an internal failure or containment scenario.”
Shar'El and the rest of the bridge crew considered the dark structure that appeared on the main view screen. The facility loomed against the burning corona; dark, sealed, and utterly indifferent to the star that sustained it.
Their orders were clear: investigate what happened. For now, they had done all they could. Only one course of action remained.
Jayson glanced toward Ya'Han. The question of an away team lingered unspoken. Protocol would demand one. But first, they needed answers. The ANUBIS was still gathering the truth, and until they understood what had silenced the facility, no one was stepping inside.
The Legaran Research Facility drifted in silent orbit, preserved, sealed, and lifeless.
No damage. No distress call. No apparent survivors.
Whatever had happened here had not come from outside.
And the only way to learn the truth would be to go inside.
=-=
NMM:
(insert eerie music)
=-=
Jayson Sousa
Lieutenant Jayson Stark
Chief of Operations
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
and
Jayson Sousa
Lieutenant JG A'Janni
Flight Control Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"By Design"
Previous post: "Silent Orbits" by Jayson
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 7, Sickbay corridor -> Turbolift
Stardate: 46225.1135
The turbolift doors parted.
Ya'Han stepped inside without hesitation. "Bridge," she ordered calmly.
The doors began to close but halted as Drayk Val'Bruxa stepped through the narrowing gap. The sensors yielded without protest.
He did not request a destination.
The doors sealed. The lift began its ascent in controlled silence.
Ya'Han did not turn immediately. "Lieutenant."
"I am here to speak to you about the away mission," Drayk stated.
Her eyes shifted to him. Measured. Assessing. "A mission has not yet been decided."
"It has," he replied. "There are questions that require answers. Those answers exist only inside the Legaran facility. Remote telemetry has reached its limit. An away mission is required."
Ya'Han regarded him without expression. "That conclusion will be presented at the senior staff briefing."
"It will be confirmed there," Drayk corrected. "It is already mathematically inevitable."
A faint pause.
"You are assuming internal causality," she said.
"I am excluding external vectors," he answered. "No hull damage. No distress call. No escape signatures. No stellar event. No subspace interference. The probability of simultaneous systemic failure across a sealed research installation without an internal trigger is statistically negligible."
"You believe it was contained."
"I believe it began inside."
The turbolift continued its ascent.
"Biological," Ya'Han stated.
"Likely," Drayk confirmed. "Legaran research architecture prioritizes environmental density over compartmentalization. If containment protocols activated, they would seal the station and shut down nonessential systems to preserve structural integrity. Power loss may have been deliberate."
"Or something consumed it," she countered.
"Possible," he acknowledged. "Less probable. Consumption events produce measurable residual gradients. We have detected none."
Her gaze did not waver. "You will be required."
"Yes."
There was no pride in the word. Only fact.
"The facility's internal sensors are accessible but dormant. Manual restoration of localized power will be necessary to retrieve logs and unlock sealed sections. Engineering intervention cannot be performed remotely. I am required."
"You are not challenging that assignment," she observed.
"No."
The lift slowed briefly, then continued past an intermediate deck.
"There is an additional consideration," Drayk said.
Ya'Han waited.
"Satella will not be part of the away team."
Silence settled between them, but it was not uncomfortable. It was analytical.
"You believe her skills are unnecessary?" Ya'Han asked.
"I believe redundancy increases exposure. A smaller team reduces vector contamination risk and tactical complexity. We require structural restoration and data retrieval. That is within my operational capacity."
"You are discounting her scientific expertise."
"I am prioritizing asset preservation. You departed Sickbay before heading directly to the turbolift. Dr. T'Lara will accompany the team. Medical containment protocols will therefore be represented. Additional scientific redundancy is unnecessary."
Her eyes sharpened slightly. "Personal preservation."
"Strategic preservation," he corrected calmly. "On the ANUBIS, Satella remains insulated from unknown biological variables. If the facility harbors an adaptive pathogen or engineered organism, exposure probability scales with personnel density. Fewer individuals reduce systemic risk."
"And if you are incapacitated?"
"Then the loss is contained to a single operational unit rather than two interdependent ones."
The statement was delivered without inflection.
Ya'Han studied him in silence.
"You are aware," she said quietly, "that this reasoning mirrors the way Jayson attempts to shield me from risk."
"I am aware," Drayk replied. "His motivation is emotional. Mine is mathematical."
"And yet you expect impartial evaluation."
"I expect command evaluation," he said. "Not emotional inference."
The lift slowed again as it approached the command deck.
"You accept the risk to yourself," she stated.
"I accept necessity."
"And if the threat exceeds projection?"
"Then I will adapt in real time."
The doors had not yet opened.
Ya'Han held his gaze.
"You are certain she will remain focused if left aboard."
"Yes."
"You are certain you will."
He did not hesitate.
"Yes."
The turbolift doors opened onto deck two.
Ya'Han stepped forward, then paused just beyond the threshold.
"Your probability models will be presented at the briefing," she said. "Your recommendation regarding personnel reduction will be considered."
A fractional pause.
"Prepare to lead restoration protocols."
Drayk inclined his head once.
"As required."
Ya'Han exited.
As the doors closed, leaving Drayk alone in the lift, he caught a glimpse of the main view screen and the facility drifting in silent orbit around a burning star.
Answers waited inside.
He would retrieve them.
=-=
Scott Grant [tryanasazi111@gmail.com]
Lieutenant JG Drayk Val'Bruxa
Chief Engineer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Perfection is not an ideal. It is a design parameter."
"Medical Debate"
Previous post: "By Design" by Scott
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Sickbay
Stardate: 46225.1136
The doors to Sickbay slid closed behind Ya'Han with a muted whisper. The steady rhythm of monitors and the low hum of environmental systems seemed louder in her absence.
For several seconds, neither woman spoke. The weight of the earlier conversation lingered, unspoken but very much present.
Satella stood beside the central diagnostic display, arms folded loosely as streams of classified data scrolled across the screen. Legaran genomic matrices. Cross referenced fragments flagged by Starfleet Intelligence. Portions were still redacted, even at the CMO's clearance level.
T'Lara adjusted the projection with a precise movement of her fingers. The rotating helix expanded, layers separating to reveal embedded sequences that did not belong together.
Lokustaar adaptive coding. Species 8472 resilience markers. And other sequences that did not belong to anything the Federation had ever cataloged. What they could identify was the Legaran baseline architecture binding them both.
"It is an unstable foundation," T'Lara said quietly.
Satella exhaled through her nose. "It is brilliant." She swallowed. "Frighteningly so."
There was no admiration in her tone. If anything, it was tight... strained. T'Lara inclined her head a fraction. "Brilliance and instability are not mutually exclusive."
She isolated a strand derived from Species 8472 and magnified it. The protein folding alone suggested near total resistance to environmental collapse. Viral suppression. Radiation tolerance. Regenerative cascade triggers.
Then she overlaid the Lokustaar coding.
Predatory efficiency. Neurological aggression amplifiers. Adaptive immune override.
"They were not merely studying resilience," T'Lara continued. "They were attempting to weaponize biological superiority."
Satella's eyes remained fixed on the projection. "Or to understand it well enough to defend against it."
The rotating strands cast shifting light across her features, illuminating the faint tension in her jaw. There was conviction in her voice, but it carried an edge that was harder to define.
T'Lara allowed the silence to stretch. Her gaze traced the foreign sequences again, following the aggressive symmetry of Lokustaar coding as it threaded through the resilience of Species 8472. Defense was the official rationale. It was the one Starfleet Intelligence had accepted.
It was the sort of justification that tended to unravel, sooner rather than later.
"Defense," T'Lara repeated at last, the word measured. "Is often indistinguishable from preparation for escalation."
That was the argument Starfleet Intelligence had accepted. That was the justification Admiral Koniki had approved without hesitation. Monitor the research. Contain the risk. Exploit weaknesses before someone else did.
Logic dictated that understanding an enemy's biology was a strategic necessity. Another voice, quieter and far less disciplined, questioned the cost. Study a predator long enough and you begin to admire its efficiency.
"The facility is intact," Satella said after a moment. "No structural compromise. No signs of external assault. No escape pods deployed. If there had been a containment failure of this magnitude, we would see evidence."
"Not necessarily," T'Lara replied.
She shifted the display to environmental modeling. Simulated breach scenarios unfolded across the screen. Rapid replication curves. Atmospheric saturation within minutes. Internal medium becoming a catalyst rather than a barrier.
"If the organism were engineered with environmental dependency tied directly to the facility's internal medium, a complete power loss could function as a sterilization event," she said. "Terminate circulation. Collapse thermal stability. Trigger genetic failsafe."
Satella's gaze flicked toward her. "You believe they built a self-terminating safeguard into the organism."
"I would have." The admission lingered between them.
Satella studied her more closely now. "And if the failsafe was triggered by something external but undetectable?"
"A subspace signal. A quantum resonance shift. A specific radiation signature keyed to a defensive protocol," T'Lara replied. "Yes. That is also plausible."
The room felt smaller.
Satella turned back to the display, her expression tightening as she examined a section of code marked with SFI oversight tags. "They were combining predatory adaptation with near indestructible cellular matrices. If containment failed even briefly..."
She did not finish the thought and T'Lara did not require her to.
Species 8472 biology alone had once threatened the Federation. The Lokustaar had demonstrated relentless evolutionary aggression. Combined, properly guided, they could produce an organism capable of surviving almost anything. Combined without restraint… they could erase an ecosystem.
Combined improperly, they could erase an ecosystem.
"Bridge reports no life signs," Satella said softly.
T'Lara's eyes remained on the data. "Life signs are a narrow definition." She reduced the display and brought up metabolic variance models. Dormancy states. Suspended bioelectric activity. Adaptive hibernation. "Absence of detectable bioelectric signatures does not equate to biological absence," she continued. "Particularly not with organisms derived from either source. Their baseline physiology does not conform to standard scanning assumptions."
Satella swallowed. "So it could still be there."
"It is statistically probable that some form of biological material remains," T'Lara said. "Whether viable is another question."
Silence returned, heavier, almost crushing.
Satella's posture shifted imperceptibly, the weight of what they were discussing settling into her shoulders. "If there is an away mission, you will recommend full biohazard protocols."
"Level ten quarantine preparations are already in effect aboard the ANUBIS," T'Lara replied.
Satella blinked. "Already?"
"I initiated them when the drones confirmed the absence of power. It was the logical precaution to take, and as the Chief Medical Officer, I am authorized to activate such protocols without notifying the Captain or First Officer."
That earned the faintest curve at the edge of Satella's mouth, though it did not reach her eyes. "You anticipated a containment breach."
"I anticipated the possibility of failure," T'Lara corrected. The phrasing lingered in the air a second longer than necessary. T'Lara's brow tightened almost imperceptibly. "I am aware," she added, a touch drier now, "that I have just echoed Lieutenant Drayk's preferred phrasing."
Satella's faint smile deepened, softening some of the strain around her eyes. "You have."
"It was not intentional," T'Lara stated. A beat passed. "Though I concede the resemblance is… difficult to ignore."
The silver-haired Mikulak woman hesitated, then spoke more quietly, returning to the original subject. "If this becomes what we fear it might be... you have more experience with this kind of threat."
It was not self-doubt. It was recognition of both knowledge and the threat that could be hiding... waiting inside the research facility.
T'Lara regarded her for a long moment. Satella was genetically engineered. A product of deliberate biological manipulation. She carried that knowledge in her cells. Curiosity and revulsion warred behind her composure.
"You are the Assistant Chief Medical Officer," T'Lara said evenly.
"And you were recruited by Starfleet Intelligence for biochemical warfare analysis," Satella replied.
The truth of it did not sting. It settled.
In the event of an active biological crisis, command would defer to the officer most qualified to neutralize it.
T'Lara turned back to the display, fingers hovering over the projection of intertwined genetic strands.
"Genetic manipulation is not inherently illogical," she said, her voice calm, measured. "Improvement of physiological resilience. Correction of defects. Enhancement of survivability. These are rational pursuits."
Her gaze hardened slightly as a faint breath escaped from her lungs.
"Exploitation of predatory evolution for strategic dominance is another matter."
Satella watched her carefully. "You sound as though you have seen this before."
T'Lara did not look at her as she replied. "I have seen what happens when people convince themselves that restraint can wait, or is entirely ignored."
The internal sensors had detected no life signs. No movement. No bioelectric traces. Yet the data on the screen did not feel dead. It felt... incomplete... unfinished. As if it were waiting for something, or someone.
The facility had sealed itself. Power terminated. Systems silenced.
A lockdown executed with intent.
"Whatever occurred inside that station," T'Lara said quietly, "was not chaotic."
Satella followed her line of thought. "You think it was deliberate."
"I think," T'Lara replied, "that someone inside recognized the magnitude of what they had created."
Sickbay seemed to hold its breath.
On the display, the combined genetic strands rotated in silent elegance, beautiful and terrible in equal measure.
"No life signs," Satella whispered.
T'Lara finally met her gaze.
"Not life as we define it."
Beyond the hull of the ANUBIS, the Legaran Research Facility drifted in darkness, its internal medium thick and undisturbed.
Silent... and waiting.
=-=
Dawn Bohr
Lt. Commander T'Lara
Chief Medical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Mission Briefing"
Previous post: "Medical Debate" by Dawn
-=-=-
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Observation Lounge
Stardate: 46225.1300
The Observation Lounge was already occupied when the senior staff began to arrive.
Ya'Han stood near the forward viewport, hands clasped behind her back, gaze fixed on the distant glow of the BENTHARAN star. Shar'El was beside the central table, one palm resting lightly against its edge as if grounding herself. They were speaking in low voices. Not hurried. Not tense. Measured, deliberate. Whatever decision had been reached, it had not been rushed.
The conversation stopped the moment the doors opened.
One by one, the officers entered and took their seats. No one commented on the silence. No one asked what they had interrupted. There was an unspoken understanding that the briefing had already begun before any of them arrived.
Shar'El waited until everyone was settled, carefully scanning the room's occupants while electing not to sit. She was the CO now, responsible for the ship and everyone aboard it, and yet the chair at the head of the table still felt like it belonged to someone else. Someone who should have been here.
"The Legaran facility remains sealed and powerless," she began, her voice calm, even, and carefully neutral. "Remote scans have reached their limit. There are no external indicators that explain the loss of power or the absence of life signs. That leaves us with one option."
She gestured, and the facility appeared on the main display. Dark. Intact. Suspended against the star like something deliberately hidden from sight.
"We will deploy a small away team."
No emphasis. No drama. Just a plain simple fact.
Ya'Han stepped forward slightly, her presence subtly shifting the balance of the room. "To avoid establishing a direct connection between the ANUBIS and the facility, we will approach by shuttle. The ship will remain at a safe distance and maintain full quarantine posture."
Her tone was steady, practiced, and unmistakably authoritative as she glanced at Dr. T'Lara.
"I will lead the initial team," she continued. "Our objective is assessment. Nothing more. We board, evaluate conditions, and determine whether the facility can be made safe enough to proceed."
Shar'El picked up the briefing without pause. "Lieutenant Val'Bruxa will restore localized power. Priority will be given to internal sensors and access systems. Due to the viscous environment required by the Legarans and the apparent lack of life on the facility, re-establishing environmental controls will not be a priority. We are not attempting a full reactivation."
Drayk inclined his head once, already accepting the parameters.
"Lieutenant Enel will provide security," Shar'El said. "He will also assist with manual access to sealed bulkheads when necessary."
Zub's expression did not change, but his posture tightened slightly, as if already measuring corridors he had not yet seen.
"Doctor T'Lara will conduct an initial review of the facility's genetic research," Shar'El continued. "This will be observational only. No samples will be removed. No experimentation will be conducted. We need to understand what this facility was meant to contain, and whether it succeeded."
A faint pause followed. Not hesitation, but something else. A careful choice to continue without elaboration.
"If the facility is deemed stable," Ya'Han added, "a second team will be deployed to support further investigation. Lieutenant Gemma, Lieutenant Commander Maya, and Christie will provide additional analysis and technical support."
The words settled into the room.
Satella shifted slightly in her chair. When she spoke, her voice was calm, composed, and unmistakably professional.
"I could join the second team and assist Doctor T'Lara with the genetic analysis," she offered with genuine enthusiasm. "Two sets of eyes have been proven to be better than one." Her eyes moved briefly, almost unconsciously, toward Drayk before returning to Shar'El. There was no accusation in the look. Just awareness.
The room went silent, eerily so.
Shar'El met Satella's gaze. For a brief moment, her eyes flicked to Ya'Han. A silent confirmation of a decision already made and shared. Then she looked back at Satella.
"You are needed aboard the ANUBIS," Shar'El said. "If this situation escalates, we will require full medical readiness on the ship. That responsibility rests with you."
The answer was measured. Reasonable. Impossible to argue with.
Satella held her expression steady, though something dimmed behind her eyes. She gave a single nod. "I understand."
No one spoke after that, and Shar'El did not rush to fill the silence.
Shar'El let the silence breathe for a moment longer than necessary before continuing.
"We do not know what caused the facility to shut itself down," she said. "We do not know whether the absence of life signs reflects failure, containment, or something else entirely. We will proceed cautiously. No assumptions. No shortcuts."
Her hand tightened slightly against the table, the only outward sign that the situation unsettled her more than she allowed herself to show, or even feel, now that there was no one left to look to for support in making command decisions.
"Our goals are simple," she concluded. "Board the station. Assess conditions. Restore limited power. Access internal data and research logs. Nothing beyond that unless conditions demand it."
She looked around the table, meeting each officer's eyes in turn.
"We have no idea what we are going to find out there," Shar'El quietly added. "So be ready for anything. We have already lost too much," the raven-haired woman sighed. "I do not intend to add anyone else to that list."
The facility drifted on the display behind her. Silent. Sealed. Waiting.
=-=
Tiffany Reeve
Commander Shar'El
Commanding Officer
USS ANUBIS
"Quiet Anger"
Previous Post: "Mission Briefing" by Tiffany
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge -> Turbolift
Stardate: 46225.1320
Even before the briefing had come to an end, Adriana had noticed something off about Satella, without the Mikulak woman having said a single word.
It was not something easily defined. Not posture or expression, not even silence. It was an absence. Satella was a bright light aboard the ANUBIS, the kind that softened corridors and lifted moods simply by existing. Laughter followed her without effort. Curiosity, warmth, wonder. All of it was usually effortless.
Now it felt muted. As if someone had turned down the ambient light of the ship and expected no one to notice.
The doors slid shut behind them, sealing the turbolift in gentle motion. Satella did not look surprised to find Adriana there. If anything, she looked amused.
"My poker face?" Satella asked lightly, a small smile curving her lips as she folded her hands behind her back.
Adriana returned the smile, softer, more cautious. "You do not have one."
"Rude," Satella replied, though there was no bite to it. She leaned back against the wall, eyes lifting toward the display panel without really seeing it. "But fair."
The lift softly buzzed as it descended. No alarms. No urgency. Just the low vibration of a ship preparing to send people into the unknown.
"You are angry," Adriana said in a gentle, non accusatory manner. An invitation for gentle silver-haired woman to share her feelings
Satella exhaled through her nose, the smile lingering even as something tighter flickered beneath it. "I am many things," she said. "Angry is simply the least inconvenient to acknowledge."
"At Drayk."
"At myself," Satella corrected easily. "Drayk is doing what he always does. Protecting the variables he cannot afford to lose." Her gaze flicked briefly toward Adriana, knowing. "You understand that."
Adriana did. Uncomfortably well.
"If Amanda were facing unknown biological risks," Adriana said quietly, "I would argue just as fiercely to keep her off that shuttle."
Satella nodded once. "Exactly." Her smile softened. "I cannot even be angry with him. He lost me once. He broke the universe to bring me back. It would be unfair to expect him not to try to bend it again."
The lift passed another deck. Neither of them acknowledged it.
"Then what hurts?" Adriana asked.
Satella tilted her head, considering. "Being predictable," she said at last. "Being known so well that my curiosity becomes a liability instead of a gift." She laughed softly, almost fondly. "I like wanting to know things. I like stepping forward. It is who I am. And it is exactly why I was sidelined."
Adriana hesitated. Counselor training urged her toward agency, toward reassurance.
"They chose to protect you," she said. "Drayk could not force them. Ya'Han and Shar'El made their own decisions."
Satella turned then, and really looked at her. She did not argue. She did not speak. She simply waited.
The silence stretched, gentle but unyielding. And in it, Adriana felt something shift. A truth she had been circling for a long time finally stopped pretending it was theoretical.
Yes. He could have forced them.
Not with threats. Not with rank. But with gravity. With inevitability. With the quiet certainty of someone who enforces his will on reality itself and expects the universe to comply. A man who did not negotiate outcomes, only calculated paths to them.
Adriana swallowed. "Yes," she admitted quietly. "He could have."
Professional discomfort tightened in her chest. Drayk Val'Bruxa was not someone she could ever counsel. Not truly. He would never question his own correctness. Never doubt the necessity of his actions. He would not sit across from her seeking insight. He would arrive already convinced the universe was wrong and he was not.
Satella's smile returned, gentler now. Not triumphant. Not vindicated. Just sad.
"I know," she said softly. "And I still love him. As I was designed to do, yes, but also because I choose to."
The words settled between them, carrying weight far beyond romance. Genetic design. Bonds written into existence. A mission built on the ruins of manipulation and unintended consequences.
Outside the lift, the Legaran facility waited. Silent. Sealed. A testament to what happened when curiosity was not tempered by wisdom.
The turbolift slowed.
Neither woman spoke as the doors slid open. They stepped forward together, sharing an understanding neither of them had wanted, but both now carried.
Whatever waited out there was not just a mystery.
For one particular individual aboard the ANUBIS, this might prove to be a mirror.
-=-=-
Marissa Montonera-Lombardi
Lieutenant JG Adriana Lopez
Ship's Counselor & Junior Ambassador
USS ANUBIS
"Silence Is Not Natural"
Previous post: "Quiet Anger" by Marissa
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge
Stardate: 46225.1325
As soon as the doors to the Observation Lounge opened, the Bridge came alive with quiet conversations and rapid preparations. Last minute plans were exchanged. Equipment adjustments were requested. No one wasted time.
The BENTHARAN star burned across the main viewscreen, cold and distant. Between it and the ANUBIS, somewhere lost in the glare and shadow, drifted the Legaran research facility. Dark. Sealed. Like a nightmare waiting to be unmasked.
Jayson crossed toward the Operations station, already reviewing power distribution in his mind, already calculating how much he would have to reroute to support a shuttle insertion while maintaining quarantine protocols.
He saw her shift course before she reached the turbolift.
Ya'Han was moving with purpose. Not hurried. Not reckless. But there was a sharpened edge to her stride now. Authority sat differently on her shoulders. She did not walk like a tactical officer preparing for deployment. She walked like an Executive Officer proving she belonged there.
He adjusted his path without thinking and intercepted her halfway between the command platform and the aft stations.
"Ya'Han.... Commander," he quietly amended.
She stopped. Turned and came to stand close enough that the air on the Bridge seemed to recede around them.
For a moment, neither spoke.
From the command platform, Shar'El remained standing. Still. Watching. The faintest narrowing of her eyes betrayed that she was not merely observing posture and proximity. As an Ullian, emotional resonance was never entirely silent to her. Something passed between the two officers. Memories of loss and love, woven into devotion edged with fear.
Jayson stepped closer. Too close for regulations.
His hand found her forearm. The hold was firm but not possessive. He simply did not want space between them. Even here, even now, the contact was unmistakably intimate.
"You do not get to be first through the door anymore," he said quietly, his gaze locked into hers.
The words were not sharp, not an order. They were a plea. A fragile one edging on desperation.
Her chin lifted a fraction. There it was. That flicker in her eyes. The eagerness. The need to prove she could lead from the front. That she had earned the right to stand where she now stood.
"I am leading the team," she replied evenly.
"I know." His voice lowered further. "And that means you do not clear corridors. You do not take point. You do not charge into whatever that place has been hiding."
His gaze shifted briefly toward the viewscreen, toward the dark research facility and the shadows that seemed to cling to it.
"We do not know what shut that facility down. We do not know what they were trying to do in there. Genetic research does not lose power and life signs without a reason."
He looked back at her, and for a heartbeat the Operations Chief disappeared.
"I have a very bad feeling about this."
The admission cost him something, and it showed.
"You let Zub take point," he continued. "You let Drayk worry about the power grid. You observe. You command. That is your job now. To watch. To assess. To delegate."
Her expression softened only slightly. She heard him. She understood. But there was no promise in her eyes. She had always been the blade, even before she first slipped away from her home world.
"You think I cannot handle it?" she asked, not offended, not defensive, just testing how he truly saw her now.
His fingers tightened just a fraction against her arm. "I think you can handle anything," he said. "That is what scares me."
The whispers of the Bridge seemed louder again. Someone at Tactical shifted in their seat. No one looked directly at them. Everyone noticed.
"I died for you once," Jayson said softly. "Do not make me test how many times I would do it again, because you know I would."
Her breath caught as her eyes dropped down to his chest where the Lokustaar claw had once impaled him.
Shar'El's posture stiffened at the command platform. The detailed memory spilling from her First Officer was almost overwhelming. The intensity of the image and associated emotions could have crushed a less experienced telepath. Still, she looked away first.
Ya'Han's gaze never left Jayson's.
"You are speaking as my lover," she said quietly.
"Yes," he replied without any hesitation. "And as your Chief of Operations," he added after a moment. "Because if something goes wrong in there, I will be the one coordinating extraction. I will be the one watching your bio signs drop."
The image and implications lingered between them.
Cold corridors. Emergency lighting. Something unseen possibly moving in the dark.
He stepped even closer, close enough that the distance was undeniably personal.
"I need you to come back," he said. Not as an officer. Not as a subordinate. But as the man who loved her beyond reason.
The look she gave him then was softer than anything she had shown since stepping into her new role. It displayed emotional acknowledgment and understanding.
"I will do what my role and duties require me to," she said, trying to do so in a way that echoed Jayson's feelings, which was still not the same as the promise he had hoped for.
He released her arm slowly. Professional distance returned in increments, like a forcefield reestablishing itself.
"Then do it wisely," he added allowing for a beat to settle between them. "Please. And let Zub be the wall between you and whatever nightmare that station is holding."
Her eyes flicked once toward the viewscreen. Toward the dark and mysterious facility orbiting the star.
"You worry too much."
"Not about this," he said. "Not about sealed research labs. Not about genetic experiments. Not about silence where there should have been life. Silence is never natural."
He gave her one last look. Memorizing her as she stood here in the light of the Bridge, whole and breathing.
Then he stepped back.
The moment collapsed into protocol.
Ya'Han moved toward the turbolift to join her team.
Jayson turned toward Operations, hands settling over the console as data streams came alive beneath his fingers. Power curves. Shuttle telemetry. Contingency overlays.
Behind the glow of the displays, his mind remained fixed on a single, terrifyingly unwanted image.
A dark corridor. A sealed door sliding open.
And something inside that should never have been allowed to live.
=-=
Jayson Sousa
Lieutenant Jayson Stark
Chief of Operations
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Intel Preparations"
Previous post: "Silence Is Not Natural" by Jayson
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 29, Ventral Access Bay
Stardate: 46225.1345
Gemma stepped out of the turbolift right behind Val'Bruxa and immediately felt that something was not right. Not dangerous. Not hostile. Just wrong.
The ILO catalogued the sensation the same way she did everything else, quietly, clinically, slotting it into mental layers without giving it language. The Ventral Access Bay was vast, open, exposed in ways the Array Section never allowed itself to be. Too much volume. Too many sightlines. Too much room for uncertainty to move unnoticed.
The deck numbers were mere labels and meant nothing. The issue was not that she stood on Deck 29, as far away from the IGC as physically possible while still being aboard the ANUBIS, it was the room itself.
Above her, metaphorically if not physically, the IGC was tight and controlled, a space designed to filter chaos into something manageable. Here, the ship's bones were visible. Structural ribs. Heavy machinery. Magnetic cradles and gantries that suggested motion, departure, vulnerability.
Something in her recoiled.
Abrasivnyy bristled first, irritation like static across Gemma's skin. "Wide open... Fully exposed... This would be a bad place to die."
Gemma sighed. Of all of her inner voices, that was one of the ones she could do without even at the best of times.
Finnja registered the emptiness differently, her unease softer, more human. "This place is too quiet. Even the echoes feel empty."
The ILO focused her attention on Drayk's steps, forcing herself to match his steady pace which displayed no hesitation of any form.
Despite her narrowed focus, the ever watchful Kael noted blind angles and vertical depth, already mapping where danger would come from if it chose to announce itself. That was the price of prioritizing survival, a skill the ILO had been forced to develop over countless missions.
Gemma ignored them all, or rather, acknowledged them without response. Data points. Internal sensors. No action required. And yet.
The boarding pod rested in its berth like a sealed thought, matte hull unmarked, clamps locked tight around it. Designed to punch into unknown environments and survive long enough for its occupants to learn why they should not have come. It looked inert, and like the ANUBIS that housed it, appeared harmless until someone looked closer.
She knew better than to trust harmless things.
Drayk stopped a short distance away, motionless, a single hand holding onto a data pad, his gaze fixed on the pod. He did not pace. He did not inspect. He simply existed in the space, as if the bay had been constructed around him rather than the other way around.
"The pod is ready," he said. Not an update. A statement of fact.
Ani walked into view beside the pod’s control interface, her avatar resolving into clean lines and composed posture. Her attention flicked briefly to Gemma before returning to the vessel.
"All systems are within operational parameters," Ani said. "Environmental seals have been reinforced to compensate for the viscosity variance. Propulsion output has been adjusted to account for drag. Maneuverability will be limited but acceptable."
"Limited is a generous word," Gemma replied, eyes on the pod rather than the avatar. "Boarding pods were not designed for grace. They are blunt tools with only a single purpose in mine... get to the target." She stepped closer, letting her gaze trace access seams, sensor housings, the subtle scarring from previous missions. "The worst part is getting there will be the easy part. Once inside, we will be dealing with a viscous environment. Even minor obstructions become hazards. Sensor occlusion will cost the team time."
"Time matters," Drayk coldly stated. Again, not commentary. Truth, dropped into the air and left to stand on its own.
Gemma inclined her head slightly. Agreement.
"Which is why I want a DRONE on standby," she continued. "Not deployed immediately. Held in reserve. If the first team encounters visual obstruction, structural collapse, or anomalous readings they cannot isolate, Ani can extend her reach without committing a body."
Ani turned fully toward the ILO. There was a flicker of something proprietary in her expression.
"My DRONES are not designed for high resistance environments," she said. "Their propulsion is optimized for confined spaces, not sustained immersion in viscous fluid."
"I know," Gemma said calmly. "Which is why I am not suggesting free roaming. Short range deployment only. Controlled bursts. Line of sight extension. If it fails, it fails before someone else does."
A pause. Brief. Calculated.
Ani's eyes unfocused for a fraction of a second as she ran simulations Gemma could not see.
"I can add a transition field around the outer shell. This will increase mobility but will reduce the sensor range and accuracy," Ani said.
"Reduced sensor range we can deal with," Gemma replied. "Surprises we cannot."
Drayk shifted then, the movement minimal but unmistakable. He stepped closer to the pod, resting one hand against its hull, fingers splayed as if feeling for something beneath the surface.
"The facility did not shut down by accident," he said. "Systems that fail leave traces. Systems that choose silence do not."
The words settled heavily in the open bay.
Gemma felt something tighten, deep and controlled. An unsettling anticipation. The sense that whatever waited inside the facility had made decisions, and that those decisions had consequences still unfolding.
"That is exactly why intel matters," she said. "If we do not understand what happened, we cannot predict what it will do next."
Ani inclined her head. "The DRONE will be prepared. On standby only. I will not deploy it unless conditions deteriorate beyond acceptable thresholds."
"Good," Gemma said as she took one last look at the board pod, at the clamps holding it in place, at the promise of motion and separation contained within metal and forcefields. The bay felt colder now. Or maybe she was simply more aware of the space pressing in around her.
As she turned to leave, something deep inside her shifted again. Kael sharpened her focus. Abrasivnyy went quiet, the silence more dangerous than anger. Finnja withdrew, unsettled by the absence of life the mission implied.
Gemma welcomed none of it. Rejected none of it either.
The facility was sealed. Silent. Waiting.
And she had the uneasy certainty that once the first team crossed that threshold, the situation would only go from bad to worse.
=-=
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
"Don't Look Back"
Previous post: "Intel Preparations" by Rachel
-=-=-
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Turbolift -> Deck 29, Ventral Access Bay -> Boarding Pod
Stardate: 46225.1355
The turbolift descended in silence.
Not the comfortable silence of a ship at rest, but something thinner. Something that pressed inward. Ya'Han stood at its center, hands behind her back, posture immaculate, breathing carefully measured in the deliberate way of someone who had learned long ago that control was not a state but a practice. Something you chose, second by second, against everything pulling in the opposite direction.
It was what stirred beneath that discipline that concerned her.
The dim reflection in the polished wall showed a Starfleet commander, composed, contained, certain. It did not show the thing that moved behind her eyes. The darkness she had once worn like armor and embraced like a birthright, the darkness that had created memories she could never forget. Those memories had not vanished with her promotions or her choices or her grief. They had simply gone quiet. Chained by will and responsibility. Waiting, as they always waited, for the right kind of door to open.
A sealed research facility. Genetic experimentation. The whispered presence of the Lokustaar, even if only as genetic samples to be studied.
She closed her eyes for a single, hesitant, breath.
That combination did not invite caution. It demanded it. She had felt the shape of something like this before, the particular gravity of a situation designed to pull the worst out of a person, and she knew better than to assume her chains would hold simply because they always had. Until they had not.
Jayson.
His name surfaced without invitation. His face filled her thoughts. Not as a wound anymore. He had forgiven her on the day he died and with every breath that had followed. What he represented now was a reckoning. She remembered blood at her feet and his heartbeat going silent. She remembered what it felt like to let the darkness decide for her, to mistake certainty for control and action for judgment. That memory did not fade. It was not meant to. It lived in her like a scar pressed into bone, useful only if she was willing to feel it.
His voice was there too, quiet and stubborn across the years. His belief that she could be more than the property her father had spent a lifetime forging, and the weapon she had strived to become. That trust had survived things it should not have. She would not be the one to finally break it.
The turbolift slowed.
She straightened fractionally as the doors parted.
Deck 29 received her with hollow machinery and muted light. Even the air felt different here. The ventral access bay was stripped of the usual sounds of a ship preparing for deployment, no footsteps, no distant voices, no ambient murmurs to soften the edges of empty space. The silence pressed in until it was hard not to start thinking about everything that could go wrong.
Ya'Han stepped forward and kept her eyes level.
She did not scan the room for threats. She made herself not to. That was no longer her role, and the distinction mattered, not as a demotion, but as a discipline of its own. The hardest kind.
Zub stood several meters ahead, armored and ready, his posture carrying the particular stillness of someone trained to see everything without appearing to. His eyes moved across angles she deliberately left to him. For a half-second, memory overlaid the scene with uncomfortable precision. That stance. That readiness. That quiet, coiled attention to the geometry of danger.
It had been hers.
He turned as she approached.
"Commander." A fraction of something, not quite hesitation, not quite deference, buried beneath crisp formality.
"Lieutenant." She met his gaze and held it a beat past the necessary. Respect was present. It had never been absent between them. What lingered now was something more careful. Recalibration. The quiet process of two people adjusting to a changed arrangement neither had requested.
"You are standing where I used to," Ya'Han said. "Figuratively, of course."
Zub inclined his head. "I am aware, Commander."
"You are more than capable of holding it." Her voice remained factual, not reassuring. "I would not be here as Executive Officer if anyone believed otherwise."
Something in his posture shifted, not much, but enough. His golden eyes remained sharp. "My focus will be on keeping the team intact."
"As it should be. You take point," she said. The instinct to take point crossed her mind, but she did not give it voice. There was no need to say this aloud because they both knew it.
Zub nodded once. "Understood."
They turned together toward the boarding pod.
The space ahead was wrong in the way that only absence can make something wrong. No chatter. No mechanical rhythm. Just the sound of their own footfalls and the particular quality of air that had too much room to fill. Ya'Han kept her pace even and her hands still and her instincts on a short, deliberate leash. Every part of her training wanted to map the space, angles, distances, chokepoints. She let Zub do that work instead, and reminded herself that restraint was not passivity. It was its own form of precision.
Leadership meant letting someone else stand between her and the threat. Some part of her still hated that.
The boarding pod came into view. Clamps locked. Hull matte and lightless. Drayk stood beside it like something carved from the ship itself, massive and motionless, his eyes already fixed on a middle distance that suggested he was working through scenarios in silence. T'Lara waited near the control interface, hands folded at her waist, expression composed in the way that Vulcan composure always was, not the absence of concern, but concern made fully subordinate to function.
Ya'Han stopped only a few meters away from the pod.
"We proceed as briefed," she said, and did not raise her voice. She did not need to. "Assessment only. No unnecessary risks. Drayk, you restore limited power when conditions allow and not before. Zub holds the perimeter. Doctor T'Lara observes and advises. Nothing is activated without consensus. Nothing."
Drayk looked at her. "Facilities that go silent usually do so for a reason."
"Yes," Ya'Han agreed, without inflection. "I am counting on you to identify it."
T'Lara inclined her head a degree. "Our perspectives may differ, Commander. Our objective does not."
"I know," Ya'Han said. "That is why I trust your judgment in there."
She meant it. She said it because she meant it, and because the team needed to hear that she did.
She stepped up to the pod. One hand rested briefly, almost unconsciously, against the inner frame of the hatch, cool metal, solid, present. Beyond it waited a structure that had gone silent for reasons no one had yet named. A place built for the study of life that now held only stillness. The Lokustaar did not announce themselves. They did not need to. They changed the nature of things and waited for the realization to come too late.
She drew a breath. Slow. Controlled.
"This facility does not decide anything," she said quietly. "We do. We go in, we assess, and we leave together. Stay sharp. Stay disciplined. We come home together."
No promises she could not guarantee. No bravado to fill the space that fear left behind. Just the shape of what she intended, stated plainly.
She stepped inside followed by the others. The team quickly settled in, right next to the EVA suits that were waiting inside.
The hatch sealed behind them with a heavy thud that felt louder than it should have. Clamps released. The pod shuddered once as it escaped from the ANUBIS and began its crossing.
Through the viewport, the research facility grew from a dark shape into something with mass and edges. The particular absence of light that distinguished a structure with no power from one simply at rest was unsettling. It was not the emptiness of space. It was the kind of dark that suggested something had gone wrong.
Ya'Han did not look back at the ANUBIS. She watched what was coming instead. The daughter of the High Sovereign of NYLA IV had learned long ago, in the harshest of ways, that looking back led to pain and to doubt. And right now, she could not afford to expose herself or the other members of her team to either.
Whatever darkness waited inside, she would face it as the officer responsible for bringing her people home, not as the weapon she had made herself to be. A soulless weapon sharpened into an Avatar of Darkness by the Lokustaar. She had chosen this role. She had earned it, and she would not waste either. Not again.
-=-=-
Hanali Han
Lieutenant Commander Ya'Han
Executive Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Where Life Was Unmade"
Previous post: "Don't Look Back" by Hanali
Setting: ANUBIS Boarding Pod, Prepping area
Stardate: 46225.1415
The pod vibrated with a low mechanical tremor as it cleared the ANUBIS and committed to its approach vector toward the Legaran research facility.
Inside, no one spoke. The silence felt deliberate, as if words might disturb something waiting ahead. A facility built for genetic mastery did not seal itself without cause.
The Legaran facility loomed ahead, a dark geometry suspended against the distant star. No running lights. No power signature beyond residual structural integrity. A place designed for the manipulation of life now adrift without even the courtesy of explanation.
T'Lara stood near the equipment rack, hands steady as she initiated the seal sequence on her EVA suit. The material responded to her touch, unfolding in layered segments designed to withstand the viscous medium required for Legaran physiology.
The suit would keep out toxins, pressure fluctuations, microbial intrusion. Unfortunately, it would not protect against design.
The latest SFI report had been explicit. The Legarans had not confined their research to conventional genetic modeling. They had acquired samples from multiple non-humanoid species such as Species 8472 and the Lokustaar.
She remembered the exact phrasing. "Cross-species resilience adaptation. Aggression markers. Environmental survivability enhancement."
She had read enough classified after-action briefings in her life to recognize when language was concealing catastrophe.
A facility such as this did not simply lose power and go dark. It either contained something successfully that had gone beyond its confinement, or the entire process had suffered a catastrophic failure that also had not been contained. Either way, someone had lost control, and they were about to step into the consequence.
Her gloved fingers tightened fractionally as the suit sealed along her spine. The faint hiss of pressurization filled the pod. Around her, the others prepared in their own silence.
Zub checked the magnetic clamps along his forearms. Drayk stood motionless for several seconds before stepping into his suit as if donning armor forged for him alone. He moved without hesitation, without visible doubt. The universe did not impose itself upon him. He imposed himself upon it.
She found that admirable.
He had bent death itself when he chose to retrieve Satella. That singularity of focus was not emotional. It was directional. He identified a goal and reshaped reality until it complied.
There was logic in that.
Her gaze shifted, almost imperceptibly, toward Ya'Han.
The Commander's posture was immaculate even within the half-sealed suit. Breathing steady. Movements controlled. But T'Lara had studied genetic instability before. She had dissected it. She had traced the way foreign markers nested within native code and waited for stressors to activate dormant sequences.
The Lokustaar had altered Ya'Han. Altered Ya'Jun. Her scans had confirmed the removal of the Lokustaar markers. She trusted her science. She did not trust what the Lokustaar were capable of hiding. The markers had gone undetected for years. That was enough.
It was well documented that stress often revealed what scans missed.
The ANUBIS had witnessed what that alteration could become.
There had been strength in it. And beneath that strength, a pressure that demanded release.
The SFI analysis had never fully determined whether the Lokustaar genetic insertions were inert without external stimulus. T'Lara suspected that assessment had been optimistic.
She watched for micro tremors. Pupillary dilation. Respiratory variance.
Nothing.
That did not reassure her.
If this facility had experimented with similar integrations, if it had refined them, amplified them, destabilized them…
Her mind did not recoil from the projection. It moved through it.
Her mind moved through possibilities, mapping failure points. A dormant organism triggered by restored power. A release vector tied to environmental shift. An adaptive pathogen capable of rewriting its own weaknesses mid-exposure.
In each model, she assigned probabilities. Survival rates. Containment thresholds.
In three of the six most plausible outcomes, the boarding pod would not return to the ANUBIS.
In two of those, the ship itself would be at risk.
The needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few.
It was not a sentiment. It was a calculation.
She remembered a dark corridor on an alien station. The walls had still been warm when she arrived. Nothing inside had survived long enough to explain what had taken place, but the physical evidence suggested something that did not leave marks consistent with known weapons or physiology.
If contamination occurred beyond recoverable limits, she would recommend immediate isolation of the facility. If the away team were compromised beyond medical reversal, she would advise against retrieval.
If she were compromised, she would order Drayk to seal the hatch.
Her rank and position made the order unquestionable.
Romulan pragmatism did not flinch from sacrifice. Vulcan doctrine gave it structure.
She finished sealing her helmet. The internal display flickered to life, feeding her environmental projections. Viscosity density. Chemical compatibility. Filtration margins.
The Legaran medium was thick enough to slow a body. Opaque enough to erase depth. Dense enough for something to brush past unseen.
She had seen laboratories where life was sculpted like clay. She had also seen the aftermath when the sculptor lost control of the material.
Starfleet Intelligence had trained her to enter those spaces after the alarms had gone silent. After the scientists were dead. After the organisms had proven themselves superior to their cages.
She had been younger then. Less conflicted. A tool sharpened for containment and nothing more. In those corridors, she had learned that genetic ambition rarely accounted for moral restraint.
The pod shifted slightly as it adjusted trajectory.
Drayk's voice cut through the comm. "Final approach. Thirty seconds."
Ya'Han acknowledged. Controlled in a way that only a team leader should be.
T'Lara stepped closer to the viewport. Up close, the facility's hull bore faint scoring along one section. Not from any sort of external impact. Not from any known weapons fire, but from within.
Her pulse did not rise. It narrowed.
If something had evolved inside, if something had adapted beyond its creators' parameters, then this was no longer a laboratory. It was an environment that had selected against weakness.
A closed system that had changed to support the survival of something not humanoid.
The thrusters fired in short bursts. Magnetic grapples extended with mechanical precision.
For a brief moment they hung between ship and silence.
Within her, the division that had defined her life aligned into something clean, something she understood better than anyone else.
Logic dictated sacrifice.
Pragmatism required speed.
Compassion would not be part of the equation.
"Docking in five seconds," Drayk said.
The facility filled the viewport. Dark. Patient.
T'Lara regulated her breathing, not to suppress fear but to ensure it remained useful.
Whatever had silenced this place had done so completely. No distress beacon. No debris. No bodies vented into space.
Silence this absolute was not accidental.
The pod struck the docking ring with a violent metallic jolt. The impact reverberated through the hull and into her bones. Clamps engaged with a grinding finality.
Metal against metal. The sound did not fade quickly.
It settled as if something on the other side had been waiting for them.
=-=
Dawn Bohr
Lt. Commander T'Lara
Chief Medical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Fluidic Motion"
Previous post: "Where Life Was Unmade" by Dawn
Setting: ANUBIS Boarding Pod, Prepping area -> Legaran Research Facility
Stardate: 46225.1430
The clamps engaged with a wet mechanical finality, and then the pod went still. During the heartbeat that followed, the hatch stayed sealed.
Internal pressure climbed in controlled increments. Indicator lights bled from amber to white as the system worked to reconcile two incompatible worlds. Sensor telemetry scrolled across Drayk's visor in thin columns of data he read without reading: temperature at 150 degrees Celsius, atmospheric composition holding, viscosity index within projected parameters.
All readings were nominal. The situation was not.
The pod locked against the facility's hull and waited for environmental parity.
There would be no breach. No violent forced entry. Only the slow, careful courtesy of compliance.
Drayk stood at the forward position with one hand against the inner bulkhead. The EVA suit encased him in reinforced plating across the shoulders and chest, giving him the silhouette of something engineered for impact rather than discovery. Behind him, Zub Enel filled the available space with the kind of mass that made rooms feel smaller, magnetic clamps locked along his forearms. Ya'Han stood slightly back, posture immaculate, her helmet visor turning the dim interior lights into two pale reflections.
No one spoke. There was nothing to add.
Ani's voice came through the comm, clean and unhurried.
=/\= Environmental parity achieved. External medium stable. Hatch integrity is nominal. You are clear to proceed. =/\=
Drayk's eyes narrowed as he studied at the hatch.
"We are not entering their environment," he said, quiet across the private channel. "We are entering their mistake."
The statement didn't need an answer or an acknowledgement. Silence was all of the agreement they needed at this time.
The outer hatch disengaged with a long mechanical rotation, metal parting from metal with the deliberate motion of something that had no reason to hurry. Beyond the threshold, the Legaran medium pressed close, clear but dense, faint internal currents coiling through it in slow, directionless spirals. The pod's light reached outward and dissolved almost immediately, swallowed into an amber murk that had no visible floor and no visible ceiling.
There was no corridor. Only volume. Just a fluidic barrier standing before them, daring them to enter into a forbidden world of unanswered questions.
Zub moved first.
He stepped to the edge and lowered one armored boot into the fluid. It resisted. Not the way water resists, not the sharp cold push of something yielding. The viscous fluid deformed around him and resisted before yielding to his mass. He shifted forward and descended. His mass didn't drop so much as sink, each centimeter earned. Internal servos compensated against the resistance but could not eliminate it. Every movement announced itself.
The fluid climbed past his thigh. His torso. His shoulders.
Then it closed over his helmet and he was gone.
Three full seconds passed. Nothing but the quiet hiss of Drayk's own respirator.
=/\= Substrate density is extreme. Mobility reduced by roughly sixty percent. Visibility limited to seven meters. Particulate density is significant. No immediate hostiles. =/\=
Drayk stepped forward and gazed into the unwelcoming viscous mass before stepping into it.
The medium accepted him the same way it had accepted Zub, reluctantly, as though pausing to calculate his mass before surrendering space. Heat radiated through the suit's external layers but his internal temperature held. The sensation wasn't wetness. It was something closer to being weighed.
He descended until the hatch frame disappeared above him. The pod's light became a dim outline. Then even that dissolved into amber, and there was nothing above him that he could name.
The facility cautiously revealed itself in pieces as the lights affixed to the helmets of the EVA suits desperately tried to pierce the thick, fluid darkness.
Walls, smooth and completely unadorned. No panels, no consoles, nothing to suggest the people who had built this place had ever needed to reach for anything in a hurry. The Legaran preference for controlled, austere geometry had been absolute. Every surface said the same thing: we have accounted for this.
But it was clear that the controls had not held.
Twenty meters ahead, something pale drifted suspended in the viscous field.
Drayk adjusted his stance for a better line of sight. Sensors struggled past seven meters of particulate-heavy fluid, resolving the shape in fragments.
It was a Legaran. What had been a Legaran. The semi-aquatic gastropods were known for their thick, leathery skin, that distinctive pale green, but there was none of that left. What floated ahead was a bright orange mass, partially dissolved, tissue unraveling into the surrounding medium in slow strands. The lower half had lost structural cohesion entirely, feathering apart as though whatever had once held it together had simply... stopped. Limbs remained, but softened. The cranial ridge had collapsed inward.
No impact marks. No weapon trauma. No sign that anything had struck it from the outside.
Zub drifted to Drayk's left, movements heavy and deliberate.
"This was not decompression," the Voth said. "Nor thermal failure."
"No." Ya'Han's voice came from just behind them. She had descended without either of them registering it. "This was internal, but the question remains..."
"What could have done this?" T'Lara said, stating the question aloud.
Drayk moved his gaze past the first body.
There were more. Some pressed against the curvature of the wall. Some suspended in the open volume, mid-drift. One body drifted closer than the others. The outer tissue had been stripped away, but the internal organs remained suspended intact within the cavity. Not random decay. Selective. No scattered debris. No signs of struggle. Systematic breakdown. Even distribution. No resistance.
He ran the projection without thinking about it.
External power failure would have triggered emergency systems, and they would have seen the evidence. Hull breach would have left structural compromise, but the hull and walls were intact. Neither scenario fit. The shutdown had been deliberate. The Legarans had sealed this place themselves, from the inside, and they had done it to try to starve something.
The thought completed itself before he could stop it: engineered life always exceeds its design parameters. Remove one constraint and it adapts. Enhance resilience and you cultivate adaptability. Increase survivability and you teach something what it means to need to survive.
This facility had not gone dark by accident. It had been sealed by people who knew exactly what they had made and had run out of other options.
Drayk tested his footing, his magnetic boots pressing against the resistance. Every motion required commitment. Retreating would be meaningfully slower than advancing.
"We have a distinct tactical disadvantage," Zub said. "Limited mobility. Restricted sightlines. Unknown threat vector. We proceed under the assumption the threat remains *fully* active."
"Agreed." Ya'Han's voice was calm. Carefully calm, in a way that had nothing to do with ease. "Stay close."
Drayk verified Doctor T'Lara's position without turning fully, ensuring formation integrity.
"Triangular spacing," the Voth added. "Maintain visual overlap. No rapid movements, disturbance patterns may attract attention."
He didn't add what the bodies had already made obvious: that something in this facility had survived long enough to outlast every scientist who had designed it, fed it, and ultimately tried to undo it.
A ripple moved through the medium to his right.
Not a current, but a displacement.
Zub stopped. "Hold."
The fluid a few meters ahead distorted, not dramatically, not violently, just a region where the suspended particulate shifted against the natural drift. Sensors strained and lost resolution before they found anything solid. The displacement was not consistent with debris.
Another dissolved body rotated slowly into view between them and the distortion. Upper torso intact. Everything below the midsection simply absent, the medium around it clouded with something that hadn't fully dispersed.
The ripple passed behind it.
The comm channel held nothing but four sets of controlled breathing.
When Zub spoke again, his voice had dropped to something close and deliberate.
=/\= I have movement. Whatever it is, it isn't residual. It has mass — enough to push the fluid. =/\=
The medium swirled again, slow and deliberate, in the one direction none of them had yet secured.
=-=
Scott Grant
Lieutenant JG Drayk Val'Bruxa
Chief Engineer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Perfection is not pursued. It is enforced."
"Seven Meters"
Previous post: "Fluidic Motion" by Scott
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge
Stardate: 46225.1435
The main viewscreen was filled with amber.
Not space. Not stars. Not tactical overlays.
Amber density. Slow-moving particulate. Helmet lights cutting seven-meter tunnels through something that did not behave like fluid and did not behave like air.
The bridge of the USS ANUBIS was silent.
Shar’El sat in the Captain’s chair, posture straight, hands resting lightly on the armrests. Adriana Lopez stood just off her right shoulder, arms folded, watching the feed with a stillness that was more focus than calm. Satella stood beside her, eyes reflecting the flicker of distortion rippling through the projection.
At the Helm, A'Janni did not turn. His single eye remained forward, fixed on the screen as though steering through the viscosity with them.
Jayson sat at Ops. Life-sign telemetry streamed across his panel in controlled columns. Four signatures. Stable. Slightly elevated heart rates consistent with exertion in a high-density environment. Environmental seals intact. Internal suit temperatures holding against the 150-degree heat pressing in from all sides.
On the screen, Drayk's light shifted as something pale drifted into view.
Jayson didn't understand what he was looking at at first. The shape lacked symmetry. Texture. Structure. Then Zub’s voice came through the comm.
=/\= This was not decompression. =/\=
The camera angle adjusted as Ya'Han moved closer. The helmet feed compensated automatically, increasing contrast. The system tried to give them clarity.
It succeeded too well.
The Legaran body rotated in suspension. Tissue stripped away in even gradients. Internal structures exposed but not violently ruptured. No tearing. No impact trauma. No external scoring.
Around him, no one spoke. Jayson's fingers hovered over his console as he reverified the away team's life-signs. All four stable.
Another body drifted past the lens. Then another.
He swallowed once, small and controlled.
"Ops," Shar'El said quietly. "Confirm environmental integrity at the away team's location."
There was a fraction of a second where Jayson did not answer.
Not because he didn't know. Because his eyes were fixed on the way the particulate shifted just beyond Zub's shoulder. Moving against the current.
He blinked, forcing focus back to his instruments.
"Environmental readings consistent with away team telemetry," he replied, voice even. "No atmospheric fluctuation. No pressure variance."
The ripple moved again.
It was subtle. A distortion in the density field. A displacement of suspended particulate inconsistent with ambient drift.
Zub's voice dropped across the comm.
=/\= I have movement. Whatever it is, it isn't residual. It has mass. =/\=
The feed flickered.
For half a second, the amber field pixelated. The resolution collapsed for two heartbeats under interference before reasserting itself.
Gemma's voice came in from the IGC, controlled but tighter than usual.
=/\= We are seeing the signal degradation. The medium is refracting the EM return. Increasing IRET sensitivity to compensate. =/\=
On his panel, Jayson shifted to transporter control without announcing it. He began cycling for a lock.
Four comm-badges.
Four suit transponders.
The system responded instantly.
[/\] LOCK FAILURE [/\]
Matter stream unable to resolve through high-density particulate suspension. Pattern scatter exceeding safe margins. Molecular cohesion unpredictable.
He adjusted confinement parameters. Boosted gain. Narrowed resolution bands.
[/\] LOCK FAILURE [/\]
The viscosity index was too high. The particulate density corrupted phase discrimination. The transport algorithms could not isolate the away team from the surrounding mass without risking catastrophic pattern degradation.
He ran it again anyway.
[/\] LOCK FAILURE [/\]
Seven meters of visibility.
Zero meters of extraction.
On the screen, another body rotated into view; lower half absent, edges softened into dissolution.
Ya'Han's helmet light swept left.
The ripple followed.
Jayson's pulse climbed two beats. Then three.
He forced his breathing to remain measured.
"Away team life-signs remain stable," he reported.
It was what he was supposed to say.
He did not add that the distortion coincided with minor fluctuations in background radiation, nor did he state that something in that facility was displacing nearly half a cubic meter of viscous medium with each movement. He swallowed hard as he realized that if whatever was there chose to close distance, their reduced mobility would make retreat statistically improbable.
On the screen, the particulate thickened momentarily, then suddenly parted.
Nothing appeared.
No silhouette. No defined shape.
Only absence. A region where density shifted... and then resumed.
Adriana’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly where they rested against her forearm.
Satella leaned forward a fraction.
Shar'El did not move.
"Ops," she said, still calm. "Can we support them in any meaningful way?"
There it was again, that half-second delay.
Jayson's eyes flicked to the transporter diagnostics one last time.
Four failures glared back at him.
"Negative," he said quietly. "Transporters cannot achieve a stable lock in that medium. We are limited to remote telemetry and comm support. The new Intelligent Relay & Environmental Transceivers are giving us what we have, but it is still not enough."
He kept his tone neutral. Informational. Doing his best to keep his disappointment of the IRET drones to himself.
On the screen, Zub shifted formation. Drayk adjusted spacing. T'Lara's light cut a narrow wedge through the amber murk.
Ya'Han remained precisely centered in the triangular formation.
The ripple moved again.
Closer this time.
The helmet feed stuttered. Audio crackled for a fraction of a breath before stabilizing.
Four life-signs. Still stable. Still intact.
The distortion passed behind them.
Then there was nothing.
No attack.
No contact.
Only the oppressive density of seven meters of sight and an unknown mass moving somewhere within it.
Jayson stared at the telemetry.
He imagined what it would mean if one of those readouts dipped... If one flatlined.
If Ya'Han had to turn and hold the line while the others withdrew.
If she chose the mission.
If she chose the ship.
If she chose anything that did not include coming back.
The screen showed amber suspension and drifting dead.
The comm channel carried four controlled breaths.
The ripple did not return.
And somehow, the waiting was worse.
=-=
Jayson Sousa
Lieutenant Jayson Stark
Chief of Operations
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
“Gellyfish”
Previous post: “Seven Meters" by Jayson
=-=
Setting: Legaran Research Facility
Stardate: 46225.1440
Zub Enel, all 7 feet of his scaly hide crammed into an environmental suit, was not comfortable in his skin. Surrounded by greenish-yellow 150-degree C goo, the Security/Tactical officer couldn’t make useful sense out of the telemetry on his helmet’s heads-up display. Whatever was moving in the surrounding gel was elusive yet clearly alive. He knew it wasn’t just some semiaquatic curiosity, not with all the Legaran bodies suspended in various states of predation.
Not being able to see or track it properly bothered him. He felt his heart rate quicken. He said, keeping the flutter in his chest out of his voice, “Obviously, the Legaran containment procedures didn’t kill whatever this is. There might be more than one. Try to stay within arm's reach of each other in case one of them attacks your suit. We can help fend it off before it gets through.”
Ya’Han’s voice came calmly over the comm. “I agree that it is safer to assume there is more than one.”
Zub turned carefully, looking for any subtle movement in the gelatinous goo that Legarans treated as fresh air. A thought occurred to him. “Ani, increase the sensitivity of my external audio sensors by 50%.”
Her reply was instant. =^= Acknowledged =^=
He heard a low-pitched hum. As the three other away teams moved, there was loud glucking and gurgling as the viscous medium flowed around their suits. There was also a faint sighing, deeper in pitch than from a humanoid throat. He tried to track the sighing’s direction. It grew a little louder as he turned his helmet to the left. “I hear something moving about 45 degrees port of my position. I increased the external volume of my suit. We might be able to track that thing auditorily.” His left arm rose slowly through the goo. He pointed at a sliver of motion barely discernible through the medium seven meters off. “There. Moving toward the access hatch.”
Ya’Han’s command was calm, professional, and direct. “Close into a diamond formation. Keep that ripple in sight. No attacks unless we are attacked.”
When the away team stepped closer together and faced the access hatch, Zub heard deafening gurgling and glugging. Val’Bruxa’s deep voice filled his helmet. “Ani, compensate for and eliminate sounds in the frequency range of suit movement through this medium.”
=^= Acknowledged =^=
The glugging abruptly ceased. What remained was a deep hum and the sighing.
The engineer continued. “Ani, isolate any sound within the range of 20 to 30 decibels. Use the combined data from our helmet sensors to triangulate and show the sound source.”
The hum dropped off. The sighing remained. A large oblong blob at about head level showed on the heads-up display near the access hatch. The blob extended in eellike undulations into a long body. Its direction of movement curved more toward the away team a few meters away.
“Thar she blows,” said Zub Enel. He was impressed by the engineer’s translation of what he was hearing into a specific frequency range. Zub remembered then that the genetically enhanced Mikulak Chief Engineer had been bred to do just that sort of mental legerdemain. Not luck. Design.
Ya’Han stated, “Excellent work, Lieutenant Val'Bruxa. We are no longer blind, but our guest is between us and any escape. Let’s keep it in sight and work our way toward the auxiliary power controls so we can activate this lab’s internal sensors and logs. Enel, take point. T’Lara, Val’Bruxa flank him. I’ll cover the rear.”
She waited a beat for her instructions to register. “Move out.”
A map of the research lab flickered into view on their heads-up display. A single corridor coiled ever smaller like a shell. The positions of the four away team members were marked, as was the blob near the access hatch.
Zub pressed himself forward into the lead. The medium resisted every movement yet was yielding enough not to be instantly exhausting to move through. Auxiliary power controls were about 40 meters ahead – much too far to see, lost beyond the 7-meter visibility limit. As he pressed slowly forward, magnetic boots gripping the lab deck, he’d glance at the blob’s position on his display. It appeared to be loitering near the exit.
=-=
David Michael Inverso
Lieutenant Zub Enel
Chief of Security/Tactical Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC 18501
“Don’t be discouraged. It’s often the last key in the bunch that opens the lock.”
– Anonymous
"Evidence of Something Worse"
Previous post: "Gellyfish" by David
-=-=-
Setting: Legaran Research Facility
Stardate: 46225.1450
The amber medium resisted every movement.
Ya'Han advanced at the back of the formation, magnetic boots gripping the lab deck while the thick gel pressed against her environmental suit from every direction. Each step demanded patience, deliberate force. Her body fought the resistance while her eyes stayed fixed on the faint distortion moving somewhere ahead.
Seven meters. That was all they had.
Seven meters of visibility inside a research facility filled with dead Legarans and something alive that refused to be seen.
Her heads-up display mapped the formation precisely. Zub Enel at point. T'Lara and Val'Bruxa holding the forward flanks. Her own position steady at the rear, watching their six. She hated being where she was. Every instinct demanded she be where Zub was, at the point of danger. But she was the ExO now. Her responsibility was the team, not the first strike, and this was not the moment to question that.
The faint sighing sound continued to drift through the audio channel.
Not mechanical. Not environmental, but very much alive.
"Maintain spacing," Ya'Han said evenly. "Do not pursue any movement outside our corridor of advance."
Her gaze dropped briefly to the tactical overlay. The auxiliary power control room lay ahead, the route spiraling inward through the facility's shell-like corridor design.
Thirty meters... Twenty-eight... Twenty-six. Progress was slow, painfully so.
The signature Val'Bruxa had locked on audio triangulation shifted again on the display. It slid along the access hatch area and paused as if watching them.
Ya'Han narrowed her eyes.
The distortion moved differently now. Before, it had displaced the particulate field like a drifting mass. Now the amber medium rippled around something that was adjusting, something deliberate, reactive, aware.
"Contact still maintaining distance," Zub reported quietly. "It's tracking us."
"Understood," Ya'Han replied.
Another ripple appeared on the edge of her display.
Then another.
Her gaze shifted to the sensor readout.
Three signatures.
The number held steady for half a second, then a fourth flickered into existence before vanishing again.
"So," she said. "There's more than one."
Zub gave a low grunt. "Appears that way."
Ahead, the amber haze shifted. For a brief moment the distortion resolved into something almost visible, a curved length of translucent tissue gliding through the particulate suspension. Segmented. Flexible. Its surface shimmered with faint refractive patterns that bent the helmet lights around it, the beam folding and vanishing as if the creature drank the light.
Then it was gone. Hidden. Cloaked.
Ya'Han felt a slow tightening in her chest.
"Val'Bruxa."
"I see it," the engineer replied. "Cloaking appears to be refractive rather than energy-based. It's bending the particulate density and our helmet lights against us."
"No power readings, so I would have to believe the ability is biological," T'Lara added.
"Like the Lokustaar," Zub muttered unhappily.
Ya'Han turned that over in silence.
The Legarans had engineered something capable of surviving in this environment, something that could move without sound through the gel and disappear entirely within it. Yet the bodies drifting around them showed signs of controlled predation. Not slaughter. Not panic.
Whatever these creatures were, they had not torn this facility apart.
Which meant they were likely not the reason it was dead.
She returned her gaze to the tactical overlay.
Ten meters to the auxiliary power control room.
"Keep moving," she ordered.
The away team continued forward through the heavy gel. The creatures followed.
More distortions appeared now, flickering in and out of visibility like shapes the eye refused to accept. Some stretched long and thin. Others seemed compact, their outlines briefly catching the helmet beams before folding back into the amber dark. None of them attacked. They circled. Observed. Catalogued.
Ya'Han paused for a heartbeat. Was their following an instinctive behavior... or a deliberate tactical evaluation?
Zub slowed as the corridor widened. "Control room ahead."
Through the haze a darker silhouette emerged, the reinforced outline of a hatch set into the curved facility wall.
The door stood half-open.
Or what remained of it.
The hatch was twisted inward. Not cut. Not burned. Crushed by something far larger and stronger than the eel-like creatures drifting around them. Something that had simply forced its way inside.
"Hold position," Ya'Han said quietly.
The team paused outside the ruined doorway. She swept the corridor. More distortions now, six, seven, possibly more, shapes drifting along the walls and ceiling, sliding briefly into partial visibility before dissolving back into the amber suspension. None attempted to close the distance. They simply watched, gathered at the edges of the light, patient in the way that only things without fear could be patient.
"They are not territorial," T'Lara observed.
"No," Ya'Han agreed softly.
Her gaze returned to the damaged hatch. The metal had been bent inward like foil.
"Enel." Zub moved carefully through the doorway.
The control room beyond was a ruin.
Panels torn free from the walls floated in the viscous environment. Conduits ripped open. Data consoles shattered across the room. Entire sections of equipment looked as though a wave of tremendous physical force had torn through them, not precise, not surgical, but frighteningly total. Violent disruption executed without hesitation or restraint.
Ya'Han entered a moment later, scanning the devastation slowly.
Auxiliary power nodes hung from their mounts at broken angles. Several had been physically torn apart. Others were crushed beneath collapsed support structures, their housings compressed flat.
This was not system failure. Something had destroyed this room.
"Auxiliary power controls are fully offline," Val'Bruxa said after a quick scan. "And not recently."
"Could these creatures have done this?" Zub asked.
Ya'Han watched one of the translucent shapes drift past the broken doorway. Nearly three meters long when it briefly resolved, its body flowing like living glass, internal structures faintly visible beneath that refractive surface. Graceful. Silent. Curious.
"No," she said with confidence. "There is something else in here... something bigger, stronger."
Another distortion passed the doorway. Then another.
More shapes gathered in the corridor beyond, their cloaked forms phasing slowly in and out of visibility as they observed the away team. There were many of them now. Far more than any containment system should ever have allowed.
T'Lara's voice came calmly over the comm. "Commander. These organisms are displaying investigative behavior. Not predatory intent."
Ya'Han turned slowly in place, studying the shattered room.
The Legarans had engineered these creatures. Contained them. Studied them. But the damage here spoke of something far stronger passing through. Something that had dismantled their control systems. Something that had left the researchers dead and these creatures entirely, disturbingly free.
Her eyes lifted to the ruined ceiling supports.
Outside the doorway, another cluster of translucent shapes drifted into partial view before fading back into the amber haze. None approached. None threatened. They simply watched, patient and unafraid, gathered at the threshold like silent witnesses to something that had already happened.
She understood suddenly that their presence here was not the danger.
It was the evidence of one.
These creatures hadn't killed the Legarans.
Something had freed them.
And whatever it was, it was still somewhere inside this facility.
-=-=-
Hanali Han
Lieutenant Commander Ya'Han
Executive Officer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"The Evidence of Force"
Previous post: " Evidence of Something Worse" by Hanali
Setting: Legaran Research Facility, Control Room
Stardate: 46225.1500
Every movement pushed against the dense suspension as though the facility had been submerged in living resin. Disturbances lingered for a moment, faint spirals of drifting particulate marking where a body had passed, before the viscous fluid folded inward again and erased the evidence.
The facility did not feel silent. It did not feel empty.
It felt like something alive, waiting.
Drayk Val'Bruxa advanced through the wrecked control room with deliberate precision, magnetic boots pulling free of the deck plating with slow resistance at every step. The dense medium carried fragments of broken panels and shattered circuitry in silent, ghostlike suspension around him. Nothing drifted quickly here. Everything moved with patient inevitability.
He ignored the debris. His attention remained fixed on the damage.
This was not the signature of system collapse. Engineers recognized failure the way physicians recognized disease patterns. Burned relays. Cascading overloads. Structural fatigue where systems fought themselves to destruction.
None of that existed here.
Drayk moved deeper into the chamber, his visor light sliding across crushed consoles and torn conduits. Entire sections of control architecture had been forced inward, housings warped and fractured under pressure that no internal malfunction could have produced.
The eel-like organisms continued to gather in the corridor behind them. Their refractive bodies slipped briefly into visibility when the helmet lights struck them at the correct angle, long translucent forms bending the amber particulate field before fading back into distortion.
They did not remain inside the room for long. Each drifted back into the corridor after only moments, as though reluctant to cross the threshold. They watched instead.
Drayk stepped past a floating control interface and continued toward the central auxiliary station. The console housing had collapsed inward like a crushed instrument panel. Internal processors hung loose within the frame, their connections torn apart by blunt compression rather than precise removal.
He stopped beside it and for several seconds he said nothing.
A gloved hand reached forward and rested against the warped alloy frame. The metal had been driven inward far past its intended tolerance. Stress fractures radiated outward through the housing where the structure had finally yielded.
No heat damage.
No tool scoring.
Only force. Brute force.
"Commander," he said calmly over the comm channel, "the organisms in the corridor did not produce this damage."
Ya'Han answered immediately. "I was worried about that."
Drayk traced the deformation along the control frame. The metal had not simply bent. It had folded under sustained pressure applied at a single point.
He straightened and turned slowly, allowing his visor display to track the destruction across the room.
Control processors eliminated.
Power routing nodes crushed.
Interface relays dismantled.
The pattern repeated itself with crude consistency.
"This room was not destroyed randomly," Drayk continued. "The entity responsible targeted the systems required to operate the facility."
Zub Enel's voice came through next. "Does not look very precise."
"No. It was no." Drayk replied.
His gaze moved toward the twisted access hatch where the team had entered. The reinforced frame had been forced inward with brutal simplicity. Whatever had come through that doorway had not attempted to bypass it.
It had simply pushed through.
"The damage indicates limited technical understanding," Drayk said. "The objective was achieved through strength rather than analysis."
T'Lara spoke quietly. "Deliberate action without sophisticated reasoning."
"Correct."
Drayk crouched slightly beside the destroyed station and examined a crushed conduit bundle that ran beneath the deck interface. The internal lattice had been flattened almost completely.
His visor ran a quick structural model.
The required force appeared on the display.
Drayk paused.
Then he rose slowly to his full height.
"The pressure required to produce these deformations exceeds what biological musculature should generate in an environment with this level of viscous resistance."
Silence followed that statement.
Behind them, another translucent form glided through the amber corridor. Nearly three meters long when it briefly resolved, its segmented body bending the helmet light before dissolving once more into refractive distortion.
More shapes gathered around it.
They remained outside the doorway.
Drayk did not look at them.
"They are not relevant," he said.
His display continued its analysis of the room.
The result was already obvious.
The facility grid was dead. Not dormant, but dead as intended.
"The Legaran power core is inactive," Drayk said. "Auxiliary control architecture has been physically eliminated. There is no remaining system capable of restoring internal power distribution."
Ya'Han stepped further into the chamber, studying the wreckage as her lights swept across the floating debris.
"Can you bring it back online?"
Drayk answered without hesitation. "No."
He gestured once toward the ruined consoles surrounding them.
"Even if these systems were reconstructed, the primary reactor remains disabled. Restarting this facility would require external power injection and stabilization from an independent source."
The implication required no further explanation.
The ANUBIS.
Drayk turned slightly and studied the twisted hatch frame again.
"The Legarans possessed the ability to shut this facility down," he said.
Ya'Han's voice lowered slightly. "You believe they did."
Drayk nodded once. "Yes."
His gaze moved across the destruction one final time. The damage told a story. It always did. Something had entered this chamber.
Something strong enough to warp reinforced alloy as though it were flexible composite. Something intelligent enough to eliminate the systems that controlled its environment..
Yet not intelligent enough to do so efficiently.
The result had been crude annihilation.
"They disabled their own systems," Drayk said quietly. "Then something came through this room and ensured they could not be reactivated."
Outside the doorway the eel-like organisms drifted slowly through the amber haze. Their elongated forms gathered near the threshold, silent and patient, as if observing an event whose meaning they could not fully comprehend.
Drayk watched them for a moment.
Then he returned his attention to Ya'Han.
"If we restore power to this facility," he said, "we must assume we are reactivating systems the Legarans intentionally shut down."
He paused.
"And we must assume the organism that destroyed this room is still somewhere inside the structure."
=-=
Scott Grant
Lieutenant JG Drayk Val'Bruxa
Chief Engineer
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501
"Perfection is not pursued. It is enforced."
"Powerless"
Previous post: "The Evidence of Force" by Scott
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck A-4, Intel Gathering Center
Stardate: 46225.1515
The Intel Gathering Center remained dim compared to the rest of the ship, the wide panoramic displays casting soft layers of shifting light across the darkened workstations. Four separate helmet feeds filled the central screen, each one transmitting through a faint haze of drifting particulate. The effect made the interior of the Legaran research station appear submerged in amber fluid.
Gemma watched everything, cataloguing every movement, every distortion, every shadow.
Drayk's visor light swept slowly across crushed control frames. Ya'Han moved through the outer edge of the chamber, her presence marked only by the slow disturbance of the thick suspension. Zub and T'Lara remained positioned near the entryway, their silhouettes occasionally crossing through the refractive distortions created by the translucent organisms drifting in the corridor.
The eels drifted with quiet patience outside the auxiliary power control room. The creatures' quiet vigil bothered the ILO more than she cared to admit.
Gemma had already catalogued thirty-six distinct passes through the camera fields. None had crossed the threshold.
Her fingers moved across the IGC console, quietly pulling structural overlays from the limited sensor returns the EVA suits were able to gather through the viscous environment.
Nothing about the facility's internal architecture suggested that internal power restoration was possible.
The core was dead. Not dormant. Destroyed.
Drayk had reached the same conclusion.
Gemma keyed the open channel.
"Your assessment is correct, Lieutenant," she said calmly. "All primary distribution nodes in the control room have been physically compromised. Even if those systems were reconstructed, the internal grid lacks an operational power source."
On the display, Drayk straightened slightly as her voice reached the away team.
"The Legaran reactor cannot be restarted locally," Gemma continued. "The facility would require external power injection from the ANUBIS."
Ya'Han glanced briefly toward the ceiling, as if the starship itself might somehow be visible through the layers of alloy and amber suspension. "Can the ship safely do that?" she asked.
Gemma brought up the facility schematics recovered from the Legaran archives. What remained of them. "Not directly," she replied.
Another set of overlays appeared across the central display.
"As you are aware, the outer shell of the station incorporates a layered shielding composite designed to prevent external energy interference with the research environment. The shielding was designed to protect the station from the nearby sun's radiation. A direct power transfer beam would be absorbed and dispersed before reaching the internal grid."
Drayk's helmet cam shifted slightly as he turned toward the outer hull.
For several seconds he said nothing.
Then his voice returned across the channel.
"The boarding pod attached to the facility was not constructed with Legaran shielding."
Gemma was already bringing the pod schematics onto the display before he finished the sentence. "Correct," she replied.
A small section of the station schematic illuminated.
"The pod's structural lattice is standard Starfleet composite. It would allow the ANUBIS to establish a stable power transfer lock."
Her fingers moved again across the console as the internal routing paths appeared.
"We would only need to run a power conduit from the pod's internal junction to what remains of the facility's distribution grid."
Drayk finished the thought a fraction of a second later.
"Then the facility could receive power through the boarding interface."
"Correct," Gemma confirmed.
The solution settled across the channel with the quiet certainty of procedure both officers recognized.
A clean workaround.
Gemma allowed herself one final glance at the helmet feeds.
The eel-like organisms continued to drift in the corridor beyond the control room. Their long translucent forms folded through the amber medium like patient ghosts, gathering near the doorway but never crossing into the chamber.
Across another console display, a separate analysis feed remained active. It came from the Xeno-biology Lab where Maya had relocated following the initial discovery of the eel-like lifeforms.
Her research windows were filled with biological motion models, spectral readings, and behavioral tracking data on the organisms. The Chief Science Officer had already begun cataloguing the creatures with the focused curiosity that came naturally to her.
They were new. They were fascinating. And they were not responsible for what had happened in that room.
Gemma's eyes returned to the structural damage overlays.
Crushed alloy. Collapsed processor housings. Force patterns that none of the drifting organisms could possibly produce.
Something else had done that. Something larger. Something stronger. Something still unaccounted for.
Gemma opened the secondary channel.
"Maya," she said, her tone calm but precise. "Your analysis of the organisms is progressing, I assume."
She paused before continuing.
"You may also wish to review the structural deformation data coming from the control room."
Her gaze remained fixed on the twisted metal visible through Drayk's visor cam.
"The damage patterns suggest the presence of a second variable inside the facility."
A quiet moment passed across the open channels.
Gemma added the final piece.
"One that has not yet made its presence known to the away team. I recommend we identify it, even if only partially, before it decides to introduce itself."
=-=
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
---
"Unexpected Biological Entities"
(Previous Post: "Powerless")
---
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Deck 7, Exo-Biology Laboratory
Stardate: 46225.1520
The Exo-biology laboratory, located not far from Sickbay, was quiet except for the layered whispers of analytical equipment and the steady flicker of holographic projections suspended above the central workstation.
Maya stood at the console surrounded by drifting translucent forms. The creatures moved slowly through the holographic reconstruction of the Legaran facility corridor, their long bodies bending the simulated amber particulate field as they effortlessly glided through it. Under most angles they were nearly impossible to see. Only when the projected helmet lights intersected their bodies at precisely the correct angle did their elongated forms briefly resolve into visibility.
Even then they appeared more like distortions than organisms, a detail the Shillian scientist found profoundly fascinating.
Maya leaned closer to the display, one hand moving rapidly across the console as new data streams unfolded across the surrounding air. Spectral readings, refractive index measurements, motion tracking overlays and environmental modelling windows multiplied around her in dense clusters.
Her voice carried across the open channel.
"Commander, Lieutenant, I must begin by emphasizing that the organisms you have encountered are almost certainly not incidental lifeforms that happened to migrate into the facility following the loss of environmental control. Their morphology, behavioural patterns and refractive properties indicate a level of environmental integration that strongly suggests intentional design."
She paused only long enough to enlarge one of the biological models.
The elongated form rotated slowly in the air.
"Their bodies, as far as I can determine from the available visual and limited sensor data, exhibit an adaptive refractive membrane structure that bends incident light across multiple wavelengths. The effect is not true cloaking in the technological sense but it achieves a comparable result. Under most lighting conditions the organisms become optically indistinguishable from the surrounding medium. The fact that they only become visible when your helmet lights strike them at very specific angles supports this conclusion."
Another model appeared beside the first.
"This trait alone suggests a highly specialized ecological role. Natural evolution can certainly produce transparency, but the degree of refractive manipulation present here implies deliberate optimization."
The voice of Lieutenant Gemma entered the channel calmly from the Intel Gathering Center. =^= You believe the Legarans created them. =^=
Maya immediately nodded, though no one could see the motion.
"That possibility must be considered, yes. The scientific reports forwarded by Admiral Koniki contain no reference to organisms of this type. Granted, the report did mention genetic work involving a large number of non-humanoid species, but nothing that remotely resembles what we have so far seen. Given the extensive biological documentation included in the Legaran archives, the absence of any mention is scientifically significant. When a highly unusual organism appears within a controlled research environment yet remains absent from all official documentation, one must consider the possibility that the research was intentionally excluded from the primary record."
Another projection appeared.
This one displayed the corridor outside the auxiliary power control room. The eel-like organisms drifted slowly through the viscous suspension that filled the research facility, their elongated bodies gliding through the amber particulate field with quiet patience.
Maya magnified the doorway.
"And their behaviour is equally revealing," she continued. "During the last nine minutes of observation, thirty six individuals have passed through the camera fields outside the control room. Not one has entered the chamber itself. Their movements indicate curiosity and awareness, yet they consistently retreat from the threshold after only brief investigation."
A moment of silence passed.
Then her voice returned, noticeably faster.
"This avoidance behaviour strongly implies the presence of a perceived threat. Organisms that have evolved or been engineered for environmental integration generally possess sophisticated sensory mechanisms. They must detect environmental changes in order to maintain their camouflage advantage. It therefore becomes necessary to consider what stimuli these organisms are responding to."
Gemma spoke quietly.
=^= You believe they are avoiding something inside the station. =^=
"Yes," Maya replied immediately. "More specifically, something inside that control room prior to the arrival of the away team."
Several new analysis windows appeared around her.
"The structural deformation data Lieutenant Val'Bruxa observed and commented upon is consistent with extreme localized pressure application. Reinforced alloy housings were compressed well beyond their intended tolerances. Under normal conditions biological musculature should not be capable of producing such force, particularly in an environment with viscous resistance levels this high."
Another projection replaced the control room model.
The simulation displayed pressure waves moving slowly through the dense fluid medium.
"However," Maya continued, her tone shifting as new data appeared, "there is an additional variable that may provide further insight."
Gemma remained silent, processing everything that was being said with far too many words for her liking.
Maya adjusted the sensor overlay. Faint ripples appeared within the fluid model.
"They are extremely subtle. I initially dismissed them as background interference generated by the movement of the away team, but closer examination indicates a repeating pattern of low frequency vibration propagating through the viscous medium."
The waves moved slowly through the simulation, barely visible.
"The oscillations lack the periodic regularity associated with mechanical systems. Their frequency fluctuates irregularly and the amplitude varies in ways that suggest biological origin rather than mechanical operation."
She paused briefly before continuing.
"In other words, something inside the facility is generating pressure disturbances within the fluid itself."
Gemma spoke again. =^= And the organisms can detect this. =^=
"Almost certainly," Maya replied. "Their elongated body structure and membrane composition would allow them to detect extremely subtle changes in fluid pressure. Many aquatic organisms rely on similar sensory mechanisms to perceive distant movement. If these creatures were engineered for environmental monitoring or containment observation, such capabilities would be essential."
The holographic eels drifted slowly around the corridor model.
Maya studied them in silence for several seconds, granting those listening in a moment of respite from the tidal wave of scientific explanations and theories.
Then she spoke again, her voice noticeably quieter.
"Their behaviour is consistent with organisms attempting to remain near a region of interest while avoiding direct proximity to a perceived predator."
A pause followed that statement.
Maya continued, the words arriving faster as her thoughts accelerated.
"If the Legarans created these organisms as part of their research environment, it is entirely plausible that they may have engineered additional lifeforms for other purposes. Experimental containment studies frequently involve multiple biological systems interacting within controlled ecosystems. A smaller observational species might coexist alongside a larger subject organism without being documented in the same public reports."
Gemma interrupted before Maya could continue further down the tangent.
=^= Maya. Focus. =^=
The Chief Science Officer paused.
The voice of the Intel Liaison Operative remained calm. =^= There is no time for a science lecture. What are you suggesting? =^=
Maya exhaled slowly.
"I am suggesting that the organisms you are observing may not be the primary lifeform present within the facility."
The holographic model shifted again.
Now the crushed control room appeared above the workstation. Twisted alloy, collapsed processors, and shattered interfaces floated within the amber haze exactly as Drayk's visor had recorded them.
Maya studied the destruction carefully.
"The level of force required to produce these deformations remains extremely difficult to reconcile with known biological strength limits under these specific environmental conditions," she said quietly. "The assessment from Lieutenant Val'Bruxa appears scientifically sound."
Another faint ripple passed through the fluid model, which Maya immediately began analysing.
"However, the pressure disturbances I am detecting indicate that something large enough to displace significant volumes of this viscous medium is still moving somewhere within the facility."
A longer silence settled across the channel.
Maya finally spoke again.
"If the Legarans did indeed engineer a secondary organism, one capable of producing the structural damage observed in that control room, then we may be dealing with a lifeform that was designed to operate within this environment."
Her voice slowed slightly.
"And if that organism is still active, the behavioural response of the eel-like creatures suggests that even they consider it something to avoid."
Another faint ripple moved through the fluid simulation.
Maya watched it spread outward into the darkness of the modelled corridors.
Her final words carried both fascination and growing concern.
"Which raises a rather troubling scientific possibility."
She paused.
"The organisms we initially believed to be the primary discovery inside this facility may in fact represent the smallest lifeforms present."
She paused only briefly before continuing.
"There is, however, one additional observation that may prove… marginally reassuring."
Another series of faint ripples moved across the simulation.
"I have mapped the origin vectors of the low frequency pressure waves currently propagating through the fluid medium. Their amplitude and propagation pattern suggest a single moving source rather than multiple independent generators."
Maya allowed the implication to settle before continuing.
"In simpler terms, the assessment of Lieutenant Val'Bruxa regarding the magnitude of force involved appears scientifically accurate. The organism responsible for the structural damage within the control room is almost certainly capable of producing strength levels well beyond those expected of biological musculature operating within this environment."
She inhaled slowly.
"The positive aspect, if such a term may be applied under these circumstances, is that the vibration signatures indicate only one such organism moving within the research facility."
A pause followed before Maya added quietly,
"Unfortunately, given the structural damage already observed, a single specimen may be more than sufficient to easily overpower the away team."
=^= Great, =^= Zub sighed.
---
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)
"Stability Threshold"
Previous post: "Unexpected Biological Entities" by Jessica
Setting: USS ANUBIS, Bridge
Stardate: 46225.1530
Although the bridge of the ANUBIS was bustling with activity, an undercurrent of unease lingered, each officer drawing measured breaths as their gazes drifted to the four helmet feeds casting amber haze across the main screen.
The Legaran facility existed inside that density, every movement slowed, every signal degraded, every reading filtered through a medium that resisted clarity as much as it resisted motion.
Jayson did not look at it all at once. He instead focused on the numbers.
"Beginning power transfer alignment," he said, his voice steady, controlled, exactly what it needed to be.
His fingers moved across the console, rerouting output from the ANUBIS' secondary grid through the modified transfer relays. The boarding pod appeared as a highlighted node on the schematic, a single viable bridge between the ship and the dead facility.
Everything else remained dark.
"Routing through the pod interface," he continued. "Establishing containment field to prevent bleed-off into the surrounding medium."
A soft series of confirmations followed.
Around him, other stations adjusted automatically, the ship responding to his inputs with quiet efficiency.
The IRET drones appeared next. Only six of the twelve, as that was all that was required to ensure the operation proceeded as planned.
Small, precise, they were already deployed along the boarding pod's exterior and inner junction points. Their telemetry feeds opened across a secondary display, each one locking onto a specific vector along the transfer path.
Jayson shifted his attention to them.
"Drones are in position," he said. "Initializing targeting lattice."
One by one, the drones responded.
Their emitters activated in sequence, projecting a faint, overlapping guidance field that extended from the ANUBIS to the pod's internal junction. The beam itself had not yet been engaged, but the path was already being defined, narrowed, stabilized.
A corridor carved through space and uncertainty.
Gemma's voice came calmly from the IGC. =/\= Synchronization of the IRET is within acceptable tolerance. =/\=
Jayson nodded once as he sighed. "Really?" He whispered to himself. "98.9% is 'within acceptable tolerance'?"
He adjusted the phase alignment manually, fine-tuning the output in small increments. The amber medium surrounding the facility distorted long-range targeting, scattering energy patterns in ways that resisted prediction. Without correction, the transfer beam would diffuse before it ever reached the internal grid.
That was not going to happen.
"IRET lattice holding," he confirmed. "Compensating for refractive interference."
On the main display, the projected beam path stabilized. Not perfectly but enough to keep the ILO quiet.
A minor fluctuation rippled through the alignment grid. One of the drones adjusted automatically, its position shifting by less than a meter to compensate for drift within the medium.
Jayson watched the correction happen in real time.
Then he made a small adjustment of his own.
"Lock it there," he said quietly. The system complied.
The transfer corridor narrowed further, sharpened by the combined precision of Starfleet engineering and the drones' adaptive targeting.
A clean line through a hostile environment.
Jayson exhaled slowly.
"Engaging power transfer."
The command moved through the system. Within a few heartbeats, energy surged, a controlled increase in output as the ANUBIS began feeding power through the boarding pod interface. The beam itself remained invisible, but its presence registered across every sensor display as a steady, contained flow.
Numbers climbed before they stabilized and held.
"Transfer established," Jayson confirmed. "Initial load is within projected limits."
He did not look away from the console. Not yet.
The IRET drones continued their work, micro-adjustments happening continuously as they compensated for subtle shifts in the surrounding medium. Their presence turned what would have been an unstable connection into something reliable.
Controlled. Necessary.
"Good work," A'Janni added. "Those things take the guesswork out don't they?"
On the main screen, one of the helmet feeds shifted slightly.
Not Ya'Han's.
Another angle.
A view from behind and above, her form partially obscured by drifting particulate as she moved through the ruined control room. Her light cut through the amber haze in short, defined beams, illuminating fragments of destruction before they faded back into obscurity.
Jayson's eyes lingered there a fraction of a second longer than they should have.
She moved the way she always did when she was working. Deliberate. Contained. Every step chosen rather than taken.
He knew that posture. He had seen it across dozens of missions, in quiet moments aboard the ship, in the rare stillness between crises. He knew the set of her shoulders when she was focused and the slight shift in her stride when something had put her on edge.
Right now, it was both.
Then he looked back to the numbers.
Power flow remained stable. No unexpected spikes. No loss of containment. The drones held their alignment with quiet precision.
Everything was working.
Everything was exactly as it should be.
"Internal grid should begin receiving power now," he said, keeping his voice level. "Recommend caution as systems come online. We don't know what may reactivate."
He already knew the answer to that.
Not the systems.
The thought settled in before he could stop it, and this time it brought weight with it. Real weight. The kind that did not respond to compartmentalization or duty or any of the discipline he had spent years building into himself.
Something larger. Something stronger.
Something that had already torn through that facility once and left nothing standing.
His hands stilled briefly over the console.
He had heard the reports. Heard Drayk's assessment, confirmed by Maya. Seen the structural analysis. There had been no exaggeration in any of it. The damage had not been incidental. It had been thorough, the kind of violence that came from something that did not distinguish between obstacles and threats.
Force like that did not belong in an environment like the one on the other side of that screen.
And it was still in there.
With her.
Jayson forced himself to continue working.
"Maintaining steady output," he said. "We can increase load gradually once you confirm system integrity."
His eyes moved back to the feed.
Ya'Han moved again, slow and deliberate, her posture controlled, focused on the task in front of her. First Officer. Responsible. Composed.
She would not break formation for fear. She would not retreat from something simply because it was dangerous. That was not who she was, and part of him understood it, respected it, known it was one of the things he loved about her.
Right now, he resented it.
Not her. Never her. The situation. The mission. The fact that all of his training and all of his precision and all of the power he was carefully feeding through that boarding pod could not reach the thing that might actually threaten her.
Drayk would not hesitate. Zub would meet force with force. T'Lara would find a way around it.
Ya'Han would think.
She would assess.
She would choose the moment that made the most sense.
And in a place like that, surrounded by something that did not think the same way, that moment might come too late.
Jayson clenched his jaw, the motion subtle enough that only someone looking directly at him would have noticed.
He adjusted the power flow again, unnecessarily precise.
"Stability holding at ninety-eight percent," he reported.
Behind him, a presence shifted.
Not physical.
Shar'El.
He did not turn, but he knew she was there. Knew that she had moved from the command chair and looked in his direction. Knew, with a certainty that came from experience rather than logic, that she had seen more than his posture or his work.
Memories did not stay contained the way power did.
Not for the Intel trained Ullian.
For a fraction of a second, an image pushed forward without permission... Ya'Han.
Not here. Not now.
Another time. Another mission. A moment where the outcome had balanced on something smaller than either of them had wanted to admit. A moment he still carried in a way he did not discuss and had never needed to explain.
Jayson forced the memory back down, locking it behind the same control he applied to everything else.
It did not go quietly.
"Transfer remains stable," he said. "IRET drones compensating within expected parameters."
Gemma glanced toward him briefly, her expression unreadable, her focus already returning to her own displays.
Different approaches. Same objective. At least that's what he hoped.
Jayson drew in a slow breath, let it settle, and released it without letting anything else out with it.
On the main screen, the amber haze shifted again as the away team continued moving through the facility.
Power now flowed where there had been none.
Systems would respond.
Something would change.
He kept his eyes on the data, because that was what he could control. That was the line he could hold. Every number stable. Every relay balanced. Every drone exactly where it needed to be.
Out there, beyond the hull, beyond the boarding pod, beyond the reach of anything he could route or redirect or stabilize, Ya'Han was making decisions in the dark.
He had to let her.
"ANUBIS to away team," he said, his voice steady and clear. "External power transfer is fully established. You are receiving a stable feed."
A brief pause.
Then, quieter, stripped of rank and protocol and the careful distance he had maintained across every second of this operation,
"Be careful."
=-=
Jayson Sousa
Lieutenant Jayson Stark
Chief of Operations
USS ANUBIS, NCC-18501