The Edge of Silence

Posted on 12 Nov 2025 @ 3:17am by Captain Sabrina Corbin

2,018 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: The Displaced
Location: Spinward March
Timeline: Two Weeks After Leaving SB 369

// Ready Room //

The stars of the Spinward March stretched thin across the black, cold and clear and few enough that even the Arawyn’s running lights seemed bright against them. Two weeks had passed since they had slipped from Starbase 369, the station’s bustle and noise long behind them. Out here, there was only the steady hum of the ship and the silence that filled the spaces between.

For the first time since launch, the crew had begun to breathe in rhythm with the ship rather than against it. The last of the post-dock adjustments were complete; departments had found their cadence. Commander Batenburg had settled quickly into her role, sharp, unflappable, her presence on the bridge a constant line of focus. Evans had Engineering running smoother than a new warp core had any right to, and Powell’s Operations teams were finally winning the quiet war with the data backlog Starfleet insisted on calling “survey calibration.” Even the night shifts had stopped sounding tentative over comms.

Sabrina let herself take that in. It mattered, the lull between missions, the sense of a crew finding its own voice. Beyond the forward viewport, the Tethra Corridor unspooled: a region of diffuse nebular haze and incomplete star charts, a place more rumor than route. Their assignment was straightforward: stellar survey, subspace mapping, but it felt different than the usual frontier. The emptiness here was deliberate, like something had swept its hand clean through the stars and left only quiet behind.

She dictated her log softly, almost as if she might disturb that stillness.

Captain’s log, stardate 242511.11; two weeks into our mapping operations in the Tethra Corridor. The crew has adapted well to the long-range patrol cycle. Spirits remain steady. Commander Batenburg’s efficiency continues to impress; the Arawyn is holding course and systems remain within optimal parameters.

Her gaze lingered on the stars ahead.

There’s a stillness here that feels alive, somehow, steady, constant, the kind that reminds you how small a starship really is.

The low chime of an incoming transmission broke the quiet. Sabrina glanced up from her console, pausing the log. The hour was late enough that interruptions usually meant something worth her attention.

"Bridge to Captain Corbin." Lieutenant Powell’s voice carried through the comm, crisp but measured.

"Go ahead."

"Captain, we’re detecting a narrow-band subspace transmission. It’s extremely faint but repeating. Not a standard Federation beacon."

Sabrina leaned back slightly, brow knitting. "Source?"

"Bearing zero-four-one mark one-eight, range approximately one-point-three light-years. We’re still refining the signal path. It keeps folding across harmonics."

That earned a quiet exhale. Folding. Not something routine.

"I’m on my way," she said, rising.

The doors parted at her approach, and the bridge greeted her with its usual subdued hum, the light from the main viewer casting long reflections across the deck. Commander Batenburg stood at Powell’s shoulder, arms folded, expression neutral but attentive.

Powell nodded as the captain crossed behind them. "We’ve isolated the pattern, ma’am. It’s repeating in cycles of twelve-point-seven seconds, but the harmonic layers don’t match any known distress format."

Corbin rested her hands lightly on the back of the command chair. "Science?"

At the forward starboard station, Lieutenant Commander Adrian Sorvak adjusted his display, the cool blue light of the sensors washing across his face. "It’s not natural interference. The frequency ratios are precise, too precise. It’s almost architectural."

"Architectural?" Corbin asked.

Sorvak hesitated before answering. "As if the signal is using subspace itself as a frame. Like it’s built to hold shape, not just transmit data."

Across the bridge, Lieutenant Evans’ voice came over the comm. "Engineering here. Captain, we’re picking up faint phase drift in the structural integrity field, minor, but synchronous with that transmission."

Batenburg shifted her stance. "Meaning?"

"Meaning whatever that thing is, it’s brushing against our hull fields," Evans replied. "Space shouldn’t do that."
Sabrina exchanged a glance with her XO before nodding once. "Understood. Lieutenant Kael, bring us to one-quarter impulse and adjust heading to match the signal vector."

"Aye, Captain." Kael’s hands were steady on the controls. The Arawyn turned, the stars outside sliding silently across the viewport.

Corbin folded her arms, gaze fixed forward. "Let’s see what’s out there."

Minutes passed in measured silence as the Arawyn traced the transmission to its source. The air on the bridge had that still, expectant quality that came before a storm.

"Signal strength increasing," Powell reported from Operations.

Corbin rose from her chair and moved toward the forward rail. "Visual range?"

"Negative," Sorvak said from Science, his tone even. "But subspace variance is rising across multiple harmonic bands. I recommend reducing speed."

"Helm, one-eighth impulse," Corbin ordered. Kael adjusted the controls, the stars beyond the viewport sliding to a crawl.
Evans’ voice came through over comm. "Engineering to Bridge, minor phase oscillations in the deflector grid, coinciding with your signal."

Corbin acknowledged. "Maintain compensators. Keep me advised."

The quiet deepened until a low tremor rolled through the deck. Warning indicators bloomed amber across Powell’s console.
"Localized gravitational surge," he said.

Corbin looked to the main viewer. Space ahead seemed to ripple, starlight bending inward as though drawn to an invisible point. The distortion pulsed once, then expanded outward in a violent bloom.

The Arawyn shuddered under the wave. Shields flared blue, fading just as quickly.

"Gravitational shear confirmed," Sorvak reported. "A subspace rupture forming at the event center."

"Distance?"

"Twenty-nine thousand kilometers and closing."

"Hold position," she said. "Evans, reinforce structural integrity."

A second pulse rippled through the field, followed by a surge of light. From the heart of the distortion, a vessel erupted, tumbling, venting plasma, pieces of its hull breaking away into incandescent arcs.

Powell steadied the visual. "Mass and configuration unknown. No registry, no transponder."

Corbin studied the image. The craft’s hull was curved, delicate even in ruin, its surface gleaming like metal under frost.
"Life-signs?"

Sorvak’s hands moved in precise sequence across the sensors. "Indeterminate through interference, but biological readings are present."

"Tractor beam."

Evans came over comm again. "Field density will resist the lock. I can boost modulation to counter."

"Do it."

A hum built beneath their feet as the deflector output rose. The golden beam reached across the void, caught the tumbling vessel, and wavered. For a moment it seemed the rift might tear both ships apart. Then Kael compensated, and the rotation slowed.

"Target stabilized," Powell confirmed.

The viewer cleared to show the alien ship adrift, scarred and smoking, but no longer falling apart.

"Prepare transporter isolation," Corbin ordered. "Notify Medical and Security. We may have survivors."

The bridge settled into a focused hush, every console alive with quiet precision. Outside, the rift shimmered once more, then began to contract, leaving only debris and the wounded vessel in its wake.

The alien ship drifted in the dark, held steady by the Arawyn’s tractor beam. Its hull shimmered faintly with residual energy, light traveling across it in slow pulses that reminded her of breathing.

"Tractor field stable," Powell reported quietly. "Relative drift near zero."

Sabrina gave a short nod, eyes on the display. "Hold position. Begin full-spectrum scan."

Sorvak worked in silence, the bridge illuminated by the cold wash of sensor data. "Composition unknown. Hybrid metallic-organic matrix. No active power signatures. However, internal heat distribution suggests multiple biosigns, approximately nine. Three weak."

Nine. More than a rescue, then.

"Engineering, confirm environmental compatibility."

Evans responded almost instantly. "Atmospheric integrity partial. Trace radiation throughout the hull, but below hazardous thresholds. I can’t promise transporter safety until we stabilize their shielding residue."

"Understood. Prepare an isolation bay for survivors, deck six. Ops, route environmental controls there and configure to variable atmosphere until Medical confirms tolerances."

Powell’s hands were already moving. "Acknowledged."

"Medical to Bridge."

"Amberlyn here."

"Doctor, we have nine potential survivors aboard the alien vessel. Prepare triage in the isolation bay, not Sickbay. Assume possible radiation exposure and pathogen variables."

"Understood. I’ll coordinate with Environmental and Security."

The line closed.

At Tactical, the officer monitored the lock with calm precision. "Captain, no energy emissions detected from their ship. Recommend we maintain shield buffer until contact confirmed."

"Agreed. Set containment field parameters for transporter operations."

The deck lights shifted subtly as power redirected.

On the viewer, the alien ship hung motionless, elegant even in ruin, its surfaces marked by faint luminous tracers like veins beneath translucent skin. Sabrina found herself watching them longer than she meant to. They pulsed irregularly, not quite random.

Sorvak’s voice drew her focus back. "Captain, the signal that preceded the rupture originated from within that vessel. It is no longer transmitting, but the harmonic imprint matches the subspace structure of the rift."

A first contact, then, however unwilling.

"Lieutenant Kael," she said evenly, "maintain relative bearing. Mr. Powell, begin low-level communication attempts, broadband, encoded standard greeting patterns. Let’s see if anyone can hear us."

The reply came not from her crew, but from the speakers: a faint pulse of sound, thin and sharp, repeating twice before fading.

Powell’s head turned. "Response detected. Weak, but directed at us."

Sabrina’s gaze held the image on the screen. "Route it to Audio."

The bridge filled with the distant, broken cadence of a voice, layered, overlapping, distorted through subspace interference. It wasn’t words, not in any known language, but it carried rhythm. A pattern.

Sorvak adjusted the modulation filters, the distortion thinning until it almost resembled speech.
One phrase emerged, soft and strained. "Help… please."

For a moment, no one moved.

"Transporter Room One," Corbin said finally, her tone even. "Prepare for incoming. We’ll bring them aboard."

"Tractor field holding, Captain," Powell confirmed a moment later. "No additional movement."

"Maintain lock," Sabrina said. "Science, begin a full internal sweep."

Sorvak worked methodically, the steady rise of sensor data scrolling across his console. "Structural integrity compromised in multiple sections. Radiation levels low but variable. Life-signs confirmed, nine total, several unstable."

Corbin acknowledged with a short nod. "Understood. Engineering, I want damage scans of their hull, anything that looks like an origin point for that rupture."

Evans’ reply came through the comm. "On it, Captain."

"Copy. Lieutenant Powell, coordinate with Science on telemetry cleanup. Let’s isolate the field mechanics that produced that rift."

"Aye, Captain."

"Containment protocols in effect," she added. "Set Transporter Room One for multi-pattern isolation. You’ll have nine incoming. Escort them to the isolation bay once cleared by Medical."

"Understood."

"Environmental controls to variable mix," she continued. "Doctor Amberlyn will need flexibility until we know what they breathe."

Batenburg stepped to her side, scanning the tactical overlay. "No further emissions from their ship," she said quietly.
Corbin’s tone stayed even. "Maintain shields at low-level overlap until we’re certain there’s no secondary event. I don’t want us dragged through another tear."

"Acknowledged."

The hum of the deck shifted as the transporter sequence began, barely perceptible, a sound she had come to associate with risk and trust in equal measure. Sabrina watched the readings stabilize across Powell’s console: biofilters active, trace decontamination fields online.

Moments later, Amberlyn’s voice came over comm, calm but firm. "Medical to Bridge. All survivors accounted for and transported successfully to isolation bays. Two are critical. Triage in progress."

"Good work, Doctor. Keep me informed."

"Understood, Captain."

Sabrina let out a slow breath. Around her, the bridge resumed its quiet rhythm, no raised voices, just the steady movement of a crew returning to procedure. The unknown ship drifted off their bow, silent and broken, its faint luminescence tracing a language none of them yet understood.

"Let’s find out what happened to them," she said softly, more to the room than to anyone in particular. "And what else might have come through with them."

Captain Sabrina Corbin
Commanding Officer
USS Arawyn

OOC: Our new friends have a Wiki. https://arawyn.epsilonfleet.com/index.php/wiki/view/page/28

 

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