The T’Seran moved through the Shackleton Expanse like a bird through fog. She was silent, patient, and cloaked. Inside, the bridge glowed green and gold.

“Signal lock refined,” Rekan reported. “Triangulation complete. Bearing zero-two-nine mark five. The source lies within a subspace fluctuation. It’s very unstable.”

Tavik stood motionless, hands folded behind his back. “Distance?”

Rekan replied with the distance. “Energy signature fading, but not yet gone.”

At tactical, Serala adjusted the holo-display. “Debris field ahead,” she said. “Not natural. Fragments half-phased, some fluctuating between space and somewhere else.”

On the far side of the bridge, Mel leaned over a console. “That distortion pattern; it’s rhythmic. Someone’s modulating it intentionally.”

Tavik’s voice remained level. “Analysis.”

Rekan hesitated. “Material composition mixed. Tritanium base, but rewritten. It’s integrated with polymeric structures. Organic traces, even. The hull seems… altered mid-formation.”

Serala frowned. “Matter cannot simply rewrite itself.”

Mel didn’t look up. “Apparently, it didn’t ask permission.”

A thin breath of laughter moved across the bridge before dying as quickly as it came.

Tavik’s tone was measured. “Contain your curiosity. Passive scans only. No active emissions.”

The wreckage drifted in front of the ship as shards of metal flickered in the light. The silence was interrupted only when the voice of T’Leth came over the comm. “Commander, I’m detecting residual neural signatures within one of the larger fragments. Faint but structured. Possibly a living being.”

Serala turned from her console. “A survivor?”

“Barely,” T’Leth answered. “Its neural network is entangled with the metallic structure. If it remains, it will destabilize. If we engage, it may destabilize us. I advise destruction.”

Mel spoke before Tavik could speak. “You can’t just vaporize it. If it’s alive…”

“If it’s alive,” Tavik interrupted, “it’s compromised. And compromise aboard a warbird invites death.”

“Sentiment isn’t compromise,” she snapped.

“Lieutenant,” Tavik said finally, turning just enough to meet her eyes. “Compassion without caution is chaos. This ship does not indulge chaos.”

Mel’s answer was simple. “And indifference isn’t strength.”

Rekan’s glance flicked to Tavik, waiting for punishment. Tavik gave none. Instead, he said simply, “Tractor beam, minimal field strength. Secure the fragment in containment bay three. Maintain full isolation.”

Serala hesitated. “Commander, that will expose us to…”

“Do it,” he said.

The T’Seran’s systems came to life as the tractor field reached. The debris fought against containment, flickering in and out of reality as if refusing to be rescued. Slowly, the fragment stabilized, glowing weakly in the field grid.

“Containment active,” Rekan confirmed. “Energy variance high, but stable.”

Tavik nodded once. “Doctor Vraik will perform initial analysis,” he looked at Borden, “you will observe. No direct contact.”

Mel’s jaw tightened. She was the ship’s medical officer, but Tavik refused to treat her as one. Mel straightened her uniform. “Understood.”

Rekan looked at Mel, she was technically the ship’s Medical Officer, even if Tavik pretended otherwise.

She followed the security team through the lift, saying nothing. The containment bay glowed dimly as they entered. Their prize just sat there in suspension. The twisted alloy fused with tissue, veins of light pulsing faintly beneath the metal. A soft blue light flashed, as though something inside was trying to remember how to move.

T’Leth stood at the console, her expression as still as glass. “Neural patterns resemble humanoid form, but fragmented. The subject is in stasis, dreaming, perhaps.”

Mel stepped closer to the transparent barrier. “It’s trying to wake up.”

“Or to deceive,” Tavik’s voice came over the comm. “Proceed with scans. No physical interface.”

T’Leth began her work, fingers a blur. On her screen, waveforms coalesced into a pattern that mirrored the T’Seran’s own reactor pulse.

Rekan’s voice cut through the comm: “Commander, energy resonance detected. The fragment is syncing with our systems.”

Tavik’s calm cracked. “Break the link.”

“Attempting,” Rekan said. His hands flew across the controls. “It’s adapting, Commander. It’s anticipating my input.”

The pulse surged. The bridge lights flared white. Then blacked out completely. For a moment, the T’Seran sat silent in the void. She was blind. Then the power grid stuttered back online.

“Link severed,” Serala reported. “All systems returning.”

Tavik exhaled, his eyes fixed on the flickering waveform. “We study before we fear,” he murmured. “But fear must be prepared.”

Down in containment, T’Leth’s voice trembled despite her control. “The connection was more than energy,” she said. “It reached telepathically, perhaps. I glimpsed… storms. Fragments of memory. It was calling for another mind.”

Mel’s voice softened. “Then it wasn’t attacking us. It was reaching out.”

T’Leth couldn’t look at her, “Not all reaching is welcome. Not all sorrow is innocent.”

“Whatever it is, it doesn’t deserve to die alone.” Mel stated, looking at the force field.

On the bridge, Tavik stood over the sensor display. “Maintain containment. No further interference.”

Serala adjusted the cloak resonance. “And if it reaches again?”

“Then we respond,” Tavik said quietly, “but on our terms.”

For a while, no one moved. From somewhere in the wreckage, a faint pulse of light responded slow, steady, patient.

Rekan looked up from his console. “The signal persists.”

Tavik folded his hands once more behind his back. “Then we are not the only ones waiting in the dark.”

The T’Seran drifted deeper into the Expanse, its prize secured.