One problem down, on to the next.
Posted on 08 Mar 2026 @ 4:43pm by Lieutenant Commander Elias Harlan
901 words; about a 5 minute read
Mission:
Silent Inheritance
Timeline: Same day as the medical conference call.
The rebuild of the tactical array ended without fanfare. No celebrations, no crowd, no applause—just a weary, collective exhale across four shifts of engineers. Two hundred fifteen personnel had spent a week in hell, and now it was over. Four hundred unshielded EPS couplings replaced. Hundreds of meters of optical cabling rerouted. A full section of power conduit feeding the dorsal phaser array torn out and swapped. On top of that: underperforming EPS relays, miswired targeting sensors, bad optical data network connections, isolinear chips slid into the wrong slots like someone had done it on a dare.
His report to the Starfleet Corps of Engineers had grown into something grotesque: chapters, table of contents, appendix, even a foreword. If it had been any longer, he could have marketed it as a novel. No one would want to play the holonovel version.
The work had been too much. By the end, betting pools had started on who would end up in sickbay next—and when. Lieutenant Caldwell was the reigning champion in visits and top scorer for unshielded EPS couplings that had overloaded in his immediate vicinity. He’d taken it with good grace. Mostly.
But the job was done.
The hard lines to the bridge tactical console had been reconnected. Elias had personally powered the system back on and initiated the level-one diagnostic. No fireworks. No explosions. Just the quiet satisfaction of green bars creeping across the screen. It would take a couple of hours to complete, but the array was finally breathing. From here on, it was Commander McKinney’s problem—until it decided to break again.
Elias was running on the mild stimulant Jorik had given him earlier, but even that was wearing thin. Fatigue washed over him in slow, relentless waves. He needed sleep. Real sleep. The kind that didn’t end with a comm chime at 0300.
He entered his quarters, the door hissing shut behind him, and dropped into the desk chair with a groan that came from somewhere deep in his spine. The small computer display flickered to life.
“Computer,” he rasped, “open a ship-to-shore channel to the planet below. Main Constabulary, Tidal Gardens beach district. I need to speak with Constable M. Kael. Flag it as urgent.”
The Federation logo appeared on the screen as the request routed through the ship’s subspace transceiver, down the planetary comm array, and finally to the desk of the man who’d once arrested half a dozen of his engineers.
Lieutenant Kael appeared—still stone-faced, uniform still crisp despite the hour.
“Commander Harlan,” Kael said, straightening slightly. “What can I do for you?”
“Lieutenant Kael. Good evening.” Elias dredged up the last of his reserves to sound coherent. “We’re working the medical issue at Kestrel Reach. I was wondering if you had a moment.”
He explained the conference call—trace polymer in the pediatric vaccine, binding to the stabilizing matrix, preventing integration. Composition matching fifty-year-old conduit insulation. Working theory: aging infrastructure degrading into the water supply.
Kael listened without interruption, then shuffled a few PADDs on his desk.
“It just so happens, I do,” he said. “We’ve been in contact with the Kestrel Reach area constables and public works. They reached out first—wanted to compare notes. So far the health advisory is contained to Kestrel Reach, but there’s something my wife brought up.”
Elias leaned forward. “Go on.”
“Her brother works for the Department of Public Works. He told her about a strange discovery during an underground inspection. Infrastructure—power conduits, waste and fresh water lines—showing serious decay. Not normal wear. Something accelerated.”
“How bad is it?” Elias asked.
“I don’t know for sure. I haven’t spoken to him directly yet. But my wife said it sounded serious.”
“Do you think I could meet him?”
Kael nodded. “It can be arranged. He’s off shift today—something about the department requiring medical checks. I can set it up for first thing tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll take it.”
Kael paused. “This whole business with infrastructure decay… do you think the incident with your crew and that beach lift might be related?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Elias admitted. “I’ll revisit the reports and scans our teams took during the Tidal Gardens repairs. It’s a bit away from Kestrel Reach, but once we have data from that area, we can compare. See if there’s correlation.”
“Can you keep me in the loop?” Kael asked.
“Of course. Send me the details for the meeting in the morning. I’ll beam down with a small team and get some scans. See if we can get to the bottom of it.”
“Very well, Commander. You’ll have the details shortly. Kael out.”
The screen blanked back to the Federation logo.
Elias breathed a sigh of relief that felt like it came from somewhere near his toes.
Tomorrow morning. Good. Just enough time to get some actual sleep before he fell over.
Something told him he was going to need it. He pushed back from the desk, stood, and headed for the bed—uniform still on, boots still laced.
Seven hours. Maybe eight if he was lucky.
He collapsed face-first onto the mattress, not even bothering to pull the blanket over himself.
Sleep hit him like a bulkhead door and nothing exploded.
Yet.
--
Lieutenant Commander Elias Harlan
Chief Engineering Officer
USS Arawyn
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