“Containment Protocols”

Posted on Tue May 20th, 2025 @ 7:08am by Daise'Arrain Calin tr'Rhenn & Riov Vrihaek tr'Saethan & Erien Seren Gemini (Kelea-Salik) & Erien Tajana t'Sarine & Daise'Arrain Olmex Thikoho [Reece] & Daise'Erei'Riov Thomas Pierpoint

Mission: Season 6: Echoes of the Zynari
Location: Warbird Havrah, Command Deck
Timeline: MD 4, 0700 Hours
1953 words - 3.9 OF Standard Post Measure

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Riov Vrihaek ir’Katra tr’Saethan stood like a shadow carved from obsidian, his posture razor-straight, the lines around his eyes taut with exhaustion. He had slept only three hours—interrupted twice by reports of inexplicable power surges and one crewman swearing their personal console had “sung” in Rihannsu verse.

It was enough.

No more games.

He turned sharply to the ship’s chief engineer, Subcommander Serik. “Seal all non-essential systems. Segregate primary computing nodes from non-critical subsystems. Run a full diagnostic trace of all networked components—twice.”

“Yes, Riov.” Serik bowed and moved swiftly.

Vrihaek turned next to Tactical. “Power isolation fields. Every deck. Lock down control interfaces. If anything shifts out of calibration, I want it scrubbed, purged, and rebuilt from the kernel up.”

“And if it’s not in the systems?” asked Neral quietly. “If it’s... in the air?”

That earned him a long stare. Vrihaek didn’t speak right away. Romulan officers were trained to reject the irrational. But even he was not immune to what they had all seen—and felt.

So he responded with the most Romulan answer possible.

“Then we change the air.”
________________________________________

By midday, the Havrah had initiated a full-ship lockdown of all auxiliary programs. Environmental systems were flushed and cycled through filters set to molecular precision. The warbird’s AI subroutines—rudimentary compared to a Federation avatar—were taken offline to prevent any further manipulation. Even the ship’s internal gravity fields were manually calibrated, as if anchoring the vessel in reality would anchor the crew’s sanity as well.

In Main Engineering, Serik worked with grim precision. “We’ve rerouted life-support to a closed-cycle. Replaced core access codes. Shielded every interface.”

“And?” Vrihaek stood beside him, arms folded.

“And it doesn’t matter,” Serik said through clenched teeth. “They’re still here.”

The lights flickered—not a power surge, but a deliberate ripple. Green and gold, dancing through the conduits like laughter echoing down steel corridors.

Vrihaek’s jaw clenched.

He stormed out, his boots sharp against the floor, his cloak flaring behind him.

________________________________________

In the medical lab, he found Chief Medical Officer Calin tr’Rhenn, eyes narrowed as she examined a small hovering object: a stylus that had begun orbiting a datapad on its own, drawing fractal symbols that no algorithm recognized.

“You look pleased,” Vrihaek snapped.

“I am not,” Calin replied calmly. “But I’m curious. When was the last time something truly unknown challenged us?”

“This is not an academic opportunity,” Vrihaek growled. “This is a hostile intrusion.”

“Is it? No crew have been harmed. No systems irreparably damaged. I would call it... a performance.”

“They humiliated a warbird.”

Calin tilted her head. “Did they? Or did they remind us that even cloaked, even armed, even isolated... we are never alone?”

Vrihaek turned on his heel without responding.
________________________________________

Hours later, in his quarters, he tried one last protocol. An isolation chamber—shielded against energy, EM fields, plasma fluctuations, and psionic leakage. A sanctum.

He stepped inside, sealed it shut, and let out a breath.

Silence.

For five minutes.

Then... a soft glow at the edge of his vision.

The reflection in the mirror showed a single word, traced in condensation across the glass.

“Pretender.”

He wiped it away with a snarl.

It appeared again. This time: “We see you.”

He struck the mirror.

And behind him—he swore—he heard the faint, chime-like sound of laughter. Not mocking. Amused. Childlike.

He sat down. Exhaled. Closed his eyes.

The Havrah had not defeated them. And perhaps—he feared—it never would.

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--BRIG--

“This is getting silly now!” Seren sighed. She was tired of pranks, more so because she was a captive audience with nowhere to go to try and escape the onslaught of mischief.

*Seren* Thomas sent his love. *Relax and try to control yourself. You amuse our unseen friends with your actions. Your annoyance brings them ammusement. *

*I’m sorry* Seren sat down and took a deep breath. *Its driving me crazy being in here.*

"Don't apologize. You have done nothing wrong except waste energy." Thomas replied. "Try something hopefully more enjoyable, talk to me." Thomas suggested.

Seren smiled. “I wish I could see you to talk to you properly, instead of being stuck in these damn cells.”

"I wish we could see each other as well. I wish I could hold you in my arms but alas we cannot so we make do with this. Take comfort from the fact we are together."

Seren nodded even though Thomas couldn’t see it. “As long as you live, I’ll be there at your side, that I promise you.”

"And I by yours. You have saved me with your love and compassion." Thomas replied.

“I just hope we get the option of living the rest of our lives together, so far we seem to be in something of a predicament.” Seren offered.

"We will live the rest of our lives together and yes we are in a predicament, but things are often darkest before the dawn," Thomas replied.

“I have faith in you Tom, as long as we’re together that’s what matters to me” Seren offered.

Tom smiled not that Seren could see but she would pick it up in his voice. "We are together, that is the important thing. Just hold on to that and believe in that."

The security officer on watch had been listening to the prisoners quietly in the dark. It was Tajana's way - to not be seen or heard. She rolled her eyes at their petty displays of affection for one another. She contemplated walking the female by the other's cage on the way to one of her favorite persuasion chambers if solely for her own amusement, but today was not a day to take her eyes off of the locked cells. Not with the unexplained events happening all over the ship.

She started to take a few steps into the corridor, but froze when she heard clacking sounds that sounded like the heels of boots hitting the deck floor. The noise stopped when she stopped walking. The soles of her own boots were designed with a rough leather outer sole, specifically made for stealthy movements and silent footsteps. She was virtually silent when she moved through the Brig. Usually. She listened for the sounds of breathing, felt for the warmth of a body nearby and could detect nothing. She took a few more steps, the loud clacking returned, this time she noticed that it was definitely in sync with her own steps. There was also a squeaking sound, that seemed to be coming from her clothes.

She was seething now, and looking for an outlet for her anger. "Show yourself," she demanded, keeping her voice calm and steady.

The energy fields holding the prisoners in their cells began to flicker, twinkle almost, like festival lights.

Tajana drew her sword and stepped into the dim lighting of the Brig's main corridor. "If either of you take one step I swear I will cut off your leg before you can take another." It wasn't a threat, it was a promise.

Tom let out a humorless chuckle, "No doubt you would but not to worry. I am content lying on this cot."

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Down in the bowels of the Havrah, where the warbird's contingent of Marines were stored, olmex sat at his desk, reading over the computer reports pertaining to the status of his unit's hibernation chambers. Like they had taught their one-time allies, the Klingons, the Romulan Navy kept their Marines in stasis during most of their deployments. Typically, only the unit commander, and a small group of their choosing, we're kept awake for the entire deployment of the ship. This was done for two reasons
One, to reduce the amount of supplies, materiel and energy needed for the entire crew for the voyage, and two, to keep the warriors in as peak condition as possible. Or so says the Admiralty back home. Olmex, in his long life of experience knew the truth. The majority of the Galaea considered the ground forces of the Romulan Navy to be nothing more than tools of war and beyond expendable. It was a truth that he knew the current Preator did not share, which was one of the reasons that Olmex was so steadfastly loyal to the leader of the Romulan and Reman people. Another was due to the fact that he was deeply in love with the man's niece.

While sitting at his desk, he reached into his right breast pocket. He pulled out a small holoimager and activated it. A small holoimage of Calin's smiling face looked back at him. Though he was many years her senior, the love they shared for one another made him feel as if her were a young man who was just entering his prime, not one slowly reaching g the end of it. He knew that she was way too good for him, and he worried that, when she found out who he really was, he would lose her forever.

As his thoughts circled this ideas, he suddenly felt a presence of some kind.

There had been numerous reports of odd happenings through the ship, but so far, nothing had occurred down here. Now, he thought he heard a soft cooing, almost like the sound a parent would make when they saw that their baby was smiling at them. He looked around quickly and, for an instant, he thought he saw a flash of light-blue light out the corner of his eye. When he turned back, it was gone. However. Above the image of Calin's smiling face, was a single word, kaevra, which translated to heart.

Seeing the word associated with Calin caused him to smile, and the word melted around the edges of her face, making it glow a bit brighter. Whatever these things were that were effecting the Havrah, he didn't feel any malicious intent from them.

So he just sat there and smiled.
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Dianek sat at his desk, the compartment dim save for the interface glow from his console. He had been reviewing duty logs--manually--for nearly a full hour. Not because he didn't trust the systems, but because he didn't trust what might be using them. If there was a pattern to the anomalies aboard the Havrah, it wasn't going to reveal itself via the ship's diagnostic filters.

He paused as the screen flickered. Once. Twice. On the fourth flicker, he shut off the console completely and reached his backup; a printed manifest, recorded to flex-film before departure. Old technology. Very low risk. It didn't shimmer, sing, flicker, shake, dance or replicate his handwriting when he wasn't looking.

Something creaked sharply behind him.

He turned slowly. The opaque door to his quarters remained shut. The storage unit aboard his sleeping alcove, however, had been nudged open. Only slightly. He crossed the room and closed it with a gentle click.

He paused for a moment, lost in thought. Then, on a whim, he re-opened it.

Nothing. Everything in place. Uniforms were folded, his blade was secured. There was nothing to suggest a disturbance. Except...

A single glove. One of his own. It was hanging from the edge of the top shelf like it had been placed there.

He knew he didn't leave it like that--never.

He retrieved it without a word, replaced his properly, and returned to his seat.

The manifest remained on the desk.

Dianek picked it up and resumed reading, his lips pressed pressed into a thin line.

Let the rest of the crew chase ghosts. He preferred evidence.