“Approaching the vessel,” Starok announced from the helm, his voice steady against the low hum of the bridge.

“Drop us out of warp,” Nelson ordered from her chair. She set her empty mug of coffee into the holder beside her armrest with a soft clink. “Bring us within transporter range, Lieutenant.”

The stars slowed from white streaks to stationary points as the Atlas emerged into normal space. Before them, the darkness resolved into a single drifting silhouette.

“I’ve got a visual,” reported Velesa from the science station.

“Onscreen,” said Corbin, leaning slightly forward.

The viewscreen shifted, and the alien ship came into view. It was silent, grey, and motionless. Its hull was smooth and almost organic-like. Its twin nacelles swept forward from the spine in elegant arcs. They glowed faintly, a dim, icy blue pulse beneath the cold vacuum. It was roughly the size of an Intrepid-class starship, but its design bore a fluid grace that seemed almost sculptural, like a vessel carved instead of assembled. It had no running lights and no signal beacons—only the faint shimmer of reflected starlight against the hull.

“I’m not detecting any lifesigns,” Velesa said after a moment. “I’ve run three sweeps and there’s nothing there.”

Ortega, who was at the aft engineering console, frowned. “Power grid’s fluctuating, but the ship’s core systems are online. Life support and environmental controls are all operational. But propulsion is completely offline. It’s parked, not wrecked.”

Rowal stood at the tactical station behind the captain and first officer, added grimly, “And there’s no sign of weapons activity. No shields, no active armaments. The ship’s completely passive.”

Corbin didn’t need to say anything; his officers were veterans, each following his unspoken expectation to cover every vector of analysis. They required more confirmation before they did anything else.

His dark Betazoid eyes remained fixed on the screen. He could feel the slight ripple of unease around him. It was not fear, exactly, but curiosity balanced on the edge of caution. They’d all seen derelicts before, but something about this one was too intact.

Corbin exhaled slowly, letting his senses extend outward, as he had long learned to trust. He wanted to see if he could sense anyone over there, perhaps someone trapped or beyond their sensors’ range. He reached out, focusing beyond the Atlas, toward the drifting vessel. He let his mind drift into the stillness.

For a moment, he thought he might have sensed something. It was like a flicker, an echo, perhaps a trace of fear or confusion. But then it was gone. There was nothing besides the cold emptiness of the void pressing back against his awareness.

He opened his eyes and sat back in his chair, his expression tightening.

Nelson looked at him with a slight worry.

“Nothing,” he said quietly to. “No one’s there.”

Then came Alkos’s voice from operations. As expected, Alkos’s tone was calm but carrying a thread of interest. “Captain, the distress call we intercepted is automated. It’s broadcasting on a low-level subspace frequency.” He paused, checking his readings. “And that frequency matches the one the Ivalans used in their initial contact with the Federation. Same carrier wave, same encryption pattern. I believe this is an Ivalan ship as we initially thought.”

Corbin exchanged a glance with Nelson, who sat to his right. “Why are they so far away from their system?” she asked through a murmur, though her voice held an edge.

Merrendis, who was seated to the captain’s left, folded her arms thoughtfully. “If it is an Ivalan ship, then where’s the crew? An entire ship adrift, systems running, no one aboard. And what happened for them to send a distress call?”

“Good question,” Nelson said, rising from her seat. “And one I intend to answer. Captain?”

Corbin nodded once. That was all she needed.

Nelson tapped her combadge. “Nelson to sickbay, Doctor Carrillion, please report to transporter room three.”

“Understood,” replied the chief medical officer over the intercom.

“Rowal, Stef, you’re with me. And Rowal, have a security team join us. We’ll find out what happened to our missing Ivalans.”

As the turbolift doors closed behind them, Merrendis leaned closer to Corbin’s chair and lowered her voice, just for him to hear. “Captain, should we inform the Ivalans? They may have families waiting for that crew.”

Corbin hesitated, his expression unreadable. Then he shook his head. “Not yet. Until we know what happened here, I don’t want to start a panic. If this ship’s been attacked or infected, we need to be certain before we make contact.”

Her expression softened as she sat up straight. “Understood, Captain.”

He appreciated her restraint; few counsellors were as diplomatic in crisis as Merrendis. She always cared for the crew and anyone they encountered. That was one of her many amazing qualities: she always thought of others first.

Turning back to the science station, Corbin addressed the Denobulan officer. “Velesa, work with Starok. I want trajectory data. We need to know where this ship came from, how long it’s been adrift, and any anomalies in the area. If we can map its path, we might uncover what stopped it.”

Velesa nodded briskly. “Yes, sir.” She stood, gathering her PADD. “Lieutenant, astrometrics will give us a clearer sweep of the region.”

“Agreed,” said Starok, rising from the helm. The two exited toward the turbolift. They were calm, deliberate, and efficient.

For a moment, the bridge fell into the quiet rhythm of the ship’s systems: just the odd soft beeps, steady hums, the faint hiss of the environmental controls.

Corbin leaned back in his chair, hands clasped loosely before him. He studied the drifting vessel on the screen, feeling a subtle disquiet that had nothing to do with telepathy. It was more instinct than insight. The ship looked peaceful, but in the silence there was something almost expectant, as if it were waiting for them.

“Captain,” Merrendis said softly beside him, reading the look on his face. “You sense something else?”

He gave a small, almost amused smile and shook his head. “No, nothing. It’s only that I’ve learned not to trust anything that looks too calm in open space.”

Before she could reply, the comm chirped.

Nelson’s voice came through, crisp and professional. “Away team assembled and ready to transport over, Captain.”

“Understood, Number One”, Corbin said. “Proceed with caution. I want a live tricorder feed to the bridge at all times.”

“Acknowledged. Nelson out.”

He exhaled slowly once the channel closed. “Something about this doesn’t add up.”

“Because it’s too tidy?” Merrendis asked, watching the silent ship drift past the viewport.

Corbin nodded slightly. “Exactly. No damage, no distress beyond an automated beacon. Either they left in a hurry or they were made to leave.”

As Corbin rose from his chair and approached the viewscreen, the alien ship loomed closer. It was silent, unblinking, its sleek form half-lit by the Atlas’s running lights.

What had happened here?