Stardate 38702.72 (September 14, 2361)
USS Edison-Bridge-On Route to the Delphi System
The hum of the USS Edison's engines vibrated through the deck plates, a deep, resonant thrum that spoke of incredible velocity. Despite the double red alert, the bridge lights were deliberately subdued, casting long, ominous shadows across the consoles and the faces of the crew. The crimson glow was a controlled burn, a simmering tension rather than a blatant alarm. The ship plunged through the void at maximum warp, a sleek spear aimed directly for the Delphi system, a place now synonymous with catastrophic annihilation. The klaxons, usually a piercing shriek, were dialed down to a low, guttural moan – a constant, throbbing reminder of the danger, felt more than heard.
From the command chair, Captain Grace McCallister stared out at the streak of stars, her face etched with a weariness that went beyond the mission. Days had blurred since the news of the Samson’s destruction, and with it, the loss of her friend, Lara Kanisky. The grief was a dull ache beneath her ribs, a constant reminder of the fragile line between life and oblivion. She gripped the arms of her chair, knuckles white, trying to rein in the sorrow that threatened to overwhelm her.
Behind her, at the science station, Ensign Claire McCallister leaned close to the console in concentration. Her fingers danced across the translucent control surface, manipulating subtle energy fields to fine-tune the sensor arrays while assisting Lieutenant Commander Tai’Anna with the latest updates on the Delphi system. Claire, a prodigy fresh out of the Academy, possessed a mind that saw patterns and correlations others often missed. Yet, she presented her findings with a quiet, almost hesitant humility, as if always questioning her own brilliance.
“The energy signature remains anomalous, Lieutenant Commander,” Claire reported, her voice soft but clear. “The spectral analysis is… inconsistent with any known phenomenon.”
Tai’Anna, a Vulcan of impeccable stoicism, offered only a curt nod. Her usual reserved demeanor had taken on a new, unsettling deadpan quality since the Edison had neared the affected zone, a subtle shift that sent a prickle of unease up Grace’s spine. The influence of the mystery object, Grace knew, was already seeping into the crew, twisting emotions, amplifying fears. Tai’Anna had been keeping Chief Science Officer Fester Drak updated in sickbay, ever since the Bolian had been moved from quarantine after his bout with that rare variant of influenza. Tai’Anna, for all her Vulcan logic, had, surprisingly, gone along with Claire’s Lovecraftian theory for now – a concept Claire had first proposed in sickbay to the fascination of Commander Drak, a notion that had since spread like wildfire through the ship, feeding the growing nervousness.
“Cross-referencing with subspace anomalies recorded near Zeta Reticuli IV prior to its destruction,” Tai’Anna stated, her voice devoid of inflection. “No comparable data entries.”
A few stations over, at Operations, Commander Kathryn Janeway monitored sensor readings, her gaze sharp and intelligent. She had been aboard the Edison for only a short time, still finding her footing as Chief of Operations, but she moved with an innate authority that Claire found undeniably captivating.
Beside her, Ensign Chell Zh’Nann, a young Ktarian, fidgeted, her ears twitching nervously. Kathryn’s hand rested briefly on Chell’s shoulder, a reassuring gesture, as she offered quiet instruction.
Kathryn's and Claire's eyes met across the bridge, the blue of Kathryn's piercing, holding Claire's gaze for a beat longer than necessary. A spark seemed to jump between them, unspoken but undeniably present. Claire offered a small, knowing smile, her lips curving slightly, echoing the warmth she felt radiating from Kathryn. It was a private moment, shared only between them, and it hinted at a connection far deeper than friendship. Grace, her hand resting lightly on her command chair armrest, was aware of the shared glances, a small, private comfort amidst the mounting anxieties.
Commander Icid Gaihia, the Edison’s First Officer, a Bajoran woman with a commanding presence, stood to Grace’s right. Her expression was grave. “Captain, Commander Hamil has new intel regarding the Samson.”
“On screen, Wes,” Grace ordered, her voice tight.
Commander Wes Hamil, the Senior Intel Officer, nodded sharply from his station. “Captain, updated intelligence reports confirm the USS Samson, NCC-77002, Miranda-Class, was originally en route to the Antares Nebula for a routine survey after the 82nd Marine Expeditionary Force and the 82nd Vindicator Squadron broke away and set course for the Setlik system near the Cardassian border. However, Starfleet Command diverted her to a Priority One investigation into the destruction of Zeta Reticuli IV. Contact was lost shortly thereafter.”
Icid stepped forward, her gaze firm on Wes. “Commander, you neglected to mention that the Samson was well within the established dead zone of Zeta Reticuli IV when contact ceased. Her last telemetry reports placed her less than a light-hour from the system’s primary star.”
Wes’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of his usual witty impulsiveness doused by the gravity of Icid’s correction. “Right, Commander. Valid point. The… the data pointed to an instantaneous, catastrophic event.” He swallowed hard, the seriousness of the situation overriding his typical bravado.
“Captain, incoming priority one transmission,” Lieutenant Commander Thess V’Nonntek announced from Tactical, his Andorian antennae inclining slightly. “Distress call, very weak, from the Balkos system. Federation starship identification codes.”
Grace’s head snapped up. She recognized the name. Sabe Murleen. Commander Hamill knew her too well – a past encounter involving a punched eye. Grace felt a surge of relief so profound it nearly buckled her knees. Admiral Nechayev herself had ordered them temporarily reassigned to the Edison if they were found. “On screen, Mr. Thess. Hail them.”
The main viewscreen flickered, resolving into a heavily distorted image. Static hissed, but through it, a human face emerged, grim and streaked with what appeared to be grime. It was Commander Sabe Murleen, the flight leader of the 82nd Vindicator Fighter Attack Squadron. Relief washed over Grace, so potent it made her knees weak. They were alive. It had been reported that all hands from the squadron and the marines were lost.
“Edison, this is Commander Sabe Murleen, 82nd Vindicator Squadron,” Sabe’s voice crackled, hoarse with strain. “We’ve been adrift for almost a week. Our main systems are offline, impulse engines barely holding. We need immediate assistance.”
“Commander Murleen, this is Captain Grace McCallister,” Grace responded, her voice thick with emotion. “We’re en route at maximum warp. What is your status? We received reports of the Samson’s destruction. Can you confirm?”
Sabe’s eyes tightened, a flicker of pain crossing her face. “Captain, we were far from the Samson when it happened. Our squadron was escorting the 82nd Marines to the Setlik system, per Admiral Nechayev’s orders. We felt it, though. A massive subspace shockwave. Knocked us out of warp near Balkos. Everything went dead. Systems fried. We didn’t see the Samson directly. But we know. We felt it.” Her voice dropped, a raw edge entering it. “And then… the object. It found us.”
A chill permeated the bridge, colder than the vacuum outside. Claire’s eyes met Grace’s, a look of shared, unspoken understanding passing between them. Grace remembered the quiet, tearful conversation in the turbolift days ago, when she had broken down, recounting her history with Lara Kanisky, from their early days serving together on the Enterprise-C under Captain Rachel Garrett. The memory twisted in Grace’s gut.
“The object?” Grace prompted, her voice barely a whisper.
“It… it pulsed,” Sabe continued, her gaze distant, as if reliving the horror. “A psychic shockwave, Captain. It amplifies your worst fears. It makes you relive them. Our pilots, the marines… it was absolute chaos. Miraculously, our flight systems recovered enough to limp away, but we’re badly damaged. Lieutenant Commander Zh’kirron, the Marine CMDCM, and I managed to keep the survivors together. We have one hundred marines and ten operational fighters left.”
Grace closed her eyes, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. Lara. Not just gone, but likely subjected to some unimaginable torment in her final moments. The thought sent a fresh wave of agony through her. She suppressed a sob, forcing herself to maintain her composure.
“Understood, Commander,” Grace managed, her voice cracking slightly. “Admiral Nechayev has already issued orders. You and your surviving forces are hereby temporarily reassigned to the Edison. We’ve cleared unused cargo bays for barracks for your marines, and a shuttle bay for your squadron.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Sabe replied, a hint of genuine relief in her voice. “We’ll await your arrival.” The screen flickered, then went dark.
A heavy silence descended on the bridge, broken only by the ship’s thrum. The implications of Sabe’s words hung in the air: the object didn’t just destroy; it terrorized. And it was heading their way.
“Tai’Anna, your thoughts on Commander Murleen’s report?” Grace asked, turning her chair slightly.
Tai’Anna’s expression remained unreadable, but a subtle tension in her posture betrayed her. “The amplification of fear suggests a directed psychic or psionic field, Captain. Consistent with Ensign McCallister’s Lovecraftian hypothesis, though lacking empirical data beyond anecdotal evidence.”
Claire, sensing an opening, offered, “Captain, if the object operates on a psionic level, it could explain the complete system failures. A focused psychic pulse could disrupt subatomic particles, creating localized entropy fields, scrambling conventional energy grids. It’s a terrifyingly elegant weapon, if it were designed, or a natural, terrifying side effect if it were… alive.”
Tai’Anna’s head snapped towards Claire. Her eyes, usually calm and deep, held a sudden, burning intensity. “Ensign, your penchant for speculative leaps is… unhelpful. While your hypothesis may currently align with the limited data, suggesting ‘life’ for an entity capable of such destruction is illogical and emotionally driven conjecture. Stick to the quantifiable.” Her voice, normally a smooth monotone, carried a sharp, almost angry edge.
The outburst was so sudden, so out of character for the Vulcan, that the bridge crew froze. Grace’s eyes widened, recognizing the object’s subtle, insidious influence. Across the bridge, Dr. Andrea Dehner, the ship’s counselor, stiffened, her gaze sweeping over Tai’Anna with professional concern.
“Lieutenant Commander,” Grace interjected, her voice firm but not harsh. “Your assessment is noted. However, Ensign McCallister’s extrapolations, while speculative, have proven to be… directionally sound in our preliminary discussions.” She paused, her gaze resting pointedly on Tai’Anna. “And your tone is unprofessional, Lieutenant Commander. Perhaps you could take a moment to… recompose yourself.”
Tai’Anna’s rigid posture softened fractionally, her eyes regaining a semblance of their usual calm. “My apologies, Captain. My… frustration stemmed from the lack of concrete data.” Her Vulcan control reasserted itself, but the brief crack in her facade was a stark warning.
Dr. Dehner stepped forward, her calm voice cutting through the remaining tension. “Captain, with Commander Murleen’s report, we have further evidence of the object’s insidious nature. It appears to feed on and amplify negative emotions, particularly fear. We should consider implementing a ship-wide stress-management protocol immediately.”
Grace nodded grimly. “Agreed, Doctor. Begin preparations for ship-wide counseling sessions. And Commander Janeway, I want a full diagnostic on all psychological filters in our comms systems. If this object can project fear, we need to know if it can bypass our regular protocols.”
Kathryn Janeway’s expression was grave. “Aye, Captain. I’ll get on it immediately.” She turned to Chell. “Ensign, begin logging diagnostics on comms relays, specifically looking for psionic interference patterns.”
Chell nodded, still a little wide-eyed from Tai’Anna’s outburst. “Y-yes, Commander.”
“Lieutenant Blodgett,” Grace’s voice rang out, steadying now, though a tremor lingered beneath the surface, “plot a course for the Balkos System. Immediately. Maximum warp.
“Aye, Captain,” Denise Blodgett responded from flight control, her tone crisp and professional, even as a faint shadow of apprehension crossed her rational face.
"Commander Icid, prepare shuttlecraft for immediate deployment upon arrival. Have Doc Greer to put Medical teams on standby for mass casualty assessment.”
“Aye, Captain,” Commander Icid responded.
As the Edison adjusted its course, its mission in the Delphi System and it’s investigation of the destruction of Zeta Reticuli IV was now temporarily on hold.
Grace took a shaky breath, her jaw tightening as her hand instinctively reached to pat her beagle Archer’s head, then paused. This wasn’t just a rescue; it was an understanding, a battle for their very sanity. Sabe’s warning echoed in her ears: the object's creeping influence was already palpable on the bridge, in Tai’Anna’s behavior, in Chell’s increased stutter, even in the subtle undercurrent of anxiety that permeated the air, preying on their deepest anxieties. Leaning back in her chair, Grace felt the sorrow for Lara and the fear for her crew intertwine – they were heading towards a monster that didn’t just destroy ships, but devoured minds, and it was already among them, a slow poison corrupting even the most disciplined.
END
, nice to see one that can hold its own! Nice easter egg-ish ship name as well.
