“Cracks in the Shadow”

Posted on Mon Jun 2nd, 2025 @ 8:05am by Daise'Arrain Calin tr'Rhenn & Riov Vrihaek tr'Saethan & Erien Seren Gemini (Kelea-Salik) & Daise'Arrain Olmex Thikoho [Reece] & Daise'Erei'Riov Thomas Pierpoint

Mission: Season 6: Echoes of the Zynari
Location: GSN Havrah, Officers’ Observation Lounge
Timeline: MD 5, 2200 Hours
1403 words - 2.8 OF Standard Post Measure

________________________________________

Romulan starships were not meant to feel light. Their corridors were sleek and dark, their architecture shadowed and severe—meant to instill discipline, silence, and power. But now? The Havrah shimmered with a faint gleam not built into her design.
In the Observation Lounge, the lights subtly glinted with green-gold hues that no one could explain. The stars beyond the viewports occasionally blinked in rhythm, like silent Morse code. Some said it was only stress. Others weren’t so sure.
Subcommander Neral, Tactical Officer, stared at the starlines with narrowed eyes. A whisper of static danced across his console screen—his personal files rearranged themselves into haiku in Rihannsu.

He didn’t laugh.

He turned as another officer entered. Centurion Yaeira t’Pelai, from Engineering. Quiet, loyal… until lately. She handed him a datachip. “Deck 5 weapons calibration logs. They’re falsified.”

He arched a brow. “Explain.”

“They’ve been tampered with. Random targeting anomalies. No evidence of correction.” She lowered her voice. “The Riov believes they’re pranks.”

“And if they’re not?”

She smiled faintly. “That’s what concerns me.”

The silence that followed was thick. Suspicion had a taste on Romulan tongues—like wine aged too long.

“I’ve served under four commanders,” she said softly. “Two were assassinated. One vanished.”

Neral’s gaze sharpened. “You believe this is worth a fifth?”

“No. Not yet.” She looked toward the viewport. “But he no longer controls the narrative. He sealed systems, quarantined data, flushed the ship’s memory banks—and still the lights sing to us.”

Neral rose and walked to the window, clasping his hands behind his back. “And what would you suggest?”

Yaeira hesitated. “Command through... consensus. A council of department heads. He can still wear the sash, if he keeps quiet.”

Neral smirked. “The Riov will not quietly step aside.”

“Then perhaps the Zynari will continue until someone else steps forward.”

They didn’t speak again. But the unspoken agreement between them lingered like fog.
________________________________________
Elsewhere, in the Intelligence Suite...

Tap-tap-tap.

A holographic feather floated above an analyst’s terminal, drifting whenever someone moved toward it. No matter how hard they tried, it evaded grasp.

Lieutenant T’Rivas, the Intelligence Liaison, recorded the anomaly with a blank face. But in her private log, she didn’t mince words:

"Containment protocols ineffective. Command authority degraded. Riov compromised in the eyes of crew. Civil command structure nearing critical fracture."

She locked the file. Then encrypted it again. Then again.

Even now, she wasn’t sure who was watching.
________________________________________
Medical Bay, Private Office of Calin tr’Rhenn

The Chief Medical Officer sipped her tea—now cold and somehow fizzing like champagne. She didn’t flinch.
Instead, she reread the latest psychological reports: subtle paranoia, increased isolation in junior officers, irregular sleep patterns… and an alarming number of whispered conversations behind closed doors.

The crew no longer saw Vrihaek as the answer.

They saw him as the problem.

Or worse… irrelevant.

Calin closed the file, sighing. She didn’t yet know where her loyalty would land. But she did know this:
No Romulan Warbird could afford to be rudderless in the storm. Not in Circinus.

Not when they weren’t alone.
________________________________________

BRIG

Seren sighed as a playful tap on her back made her turn around yet again, whoever or whatever it was that was playing pranks was getting very tiresome. “Why don’t you just tell me what you want?” She gazed around the empty cell. “It’s not like I can go anywhere!”

Thomas heard Seren's outburst and he fully understood it. he too had been the subject of numerous pranks. None meant to harm or cause injury just mischief. "Seren." He said just loud enough for her to hear. "Relax. As you said you cannot go anywhere nor can I. Perhaps by not reacting our unseen friends will go away."

“I’m trying!” Seren sighed as she sat down, she was frustrated enough with being stuck in the cell, which gave her a wry idea. “You know what might be fun? A little game of hide and seek, if the cell doors were unlocked we’d be able to play hide and seek from the guards.”

Thomas chuckled, "It may be fun for a while but not so much when the guards caught us. Worse they would take out their anger on us for our impedance in trying to escape. Try ignoring our 'friends' see where that goes." He suggested.

“Easier said than done” Seren sighed. “But I’ll try.”

Thomas smiled not that Seren could see but she could sense it. Through the bond they shared, "You can do it. Just try not to stress over this."

Seren sighed but did as she was asked, trying hard to relax and see the lighter side of the pranks.

"Breathe Seren. Find a happy place and let your mind go there. I admit it is difficult locked up as we are." Thomas replied.

“My happy place is with you” Seren offered as she lay back on her bed and closed her eyes. “I will meditate on our happier times.”

Thomas smiled. "My happy times are with you Seren. Where we could just be ourselves and enjoy each other with no rank, Just a man and a woman who love each other." He paused for a moment before adding. "Try and stay positive Seren. It helps pass the time and it drives our captors nuts."

________________________________________

Even down in the underbelly of the powerful warship, Olmex had been hearing the rising whispers of discontent. It was clear to him that the boy who current sat in the command chair was not only over his head, but possibly close to loosing it.

For the past hour, the old warrior had been considering his next move. Knowing the ship and her crew as he did -he had reas all of their personnel files before they had left home - he knew that, while they were good officers, loyal to Romulus, few of them had any real combat experience, let alone command experience. There were a few, to be sure, who showed some spark of possibility, if they had the chance to grow. However, for their current situation, those voices would have to remain silent for now. While nothing catastrophic had occurred yet, the Havrah was under attack. And her current master was crumbling under the stress of the constant bombardment. As a loyal Romulan officer, Olmex knew he had only one choice.

Reaching over to his control interface, he entered his command codes and activated the wake-up process for his Marines. To save the Havrah and her crew, he would have to assume the mantel as her new master and commander. And any who stood in his way....would die. All in the name of the Praetor.

TAGS

------------------------------------------------------------

Dianek's quarters were dim, as always. He preferred the lighting subdued--low amber in the main area, a colder green in the meditation alcove. He sat cross-legged on the floor, facing a small flickering display of ancient Rihannsu script projected from his personal console. It wasn't poetry or philosophy. It was a technical treatise from the 22nd century: some forgotten engineering theories discarded by the Praetorate. But he studied it like scripture.

A ceremonial blade rested in the wall bracket above his bunk. It was tarnished and its handle wrapped in worn black leather. He had never polished it. Not once. It was tradition to keep it in perfect condition but to him the object signified protest. His family had given him that blade when he entered service. Not to protect himself but to protect their ideals.

From the corridor, the muffled hum of the Havrah's systems was omnipresent. Dianek could trace every frequency and vibration in the deck plating. Something had shifted in the tertiary manifold. Only a little. He didn't need a console to know that. He simply felt it--like a bad itch.

He rose without ceremony and crossed to his personal wall-mounted console. No alerts were displayed. No diagnostics flagged. But the wave patterns were irregular by a fraction--enough to be dangerous if ignored. He opened a hidden directory in the system--an unauthorized one--and began logging a private note in code no one else on the ship used anymore.

Just as he finished, the console pinged softly. A message with no sender and no header. Just a single line:

They're watching.