Technical Difficulties (featuring Existential Dread)

Posted on Fri May 16th, 2025 @ 10:55am by Ensign Garabed "Garo" Hakobyan

Mission: Season 6: Echoes of the Zynari
Location: Corridor, Deck 31, USS Elysium
Timeline: MD3 2321 Hours
1088 words - 2.2 OF Standard Post Measure

Garo's stiff neck throbbed.

The corridor outside Holodeck Ten was deserted when Ensign Hakobyan emerged, the curved panel of this toolkit slung under his left arm like a misbehaving toddler. The latest diagnostic showed no active errors, but Garo didn't believe it. The glitch that had drawn him here--a phantom environmental failure--had disappeared the moment he arrived, leaving behind nothing but tiny fluctuations in power levels and a flickering LCARS panel. It was the fourth time that day a system had righted itself before Operations or Engineering could catch it in the act. Typical. Like trying to pin crime on a hologram.

"Sixth wild goose chase today," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. "At this rate, I should request promotion to Chief of Imaginary Problems."

He paused just outside the holodeck archway, letting the silence settle and his body relax. The ship was quieter at this hour, though not truly still. The background noise of the Elysium's systems carried through the deck plating--a symphony he'd grown used to aboard the ship. It had quickly become the theme music of his working life.

Then he heard it.

Systems are stable. But something's listening."

It was his voice. Not just similar--exact. His tone, his cadence, even the slight rasp he'd picked up from too many late-night shifts and not enough hydration.

Only, it sounded like it had been dragged backwards through a plasma field and rebuilt by a mostly-deaf robot who thought reverb was an essential life function.

Garo turned sharply. The corridor behind him was empty--no signs of movement. No open panels. No smug, prank-happy junior officers hiding in the walls.

He stared into the silence for a moment longer than he'd have liked, then slowly reached for his tricorder.

"All right," he said out loud, trying to sound bored and a little fed-up. "Either the ship's possessed, or I've officially cracked. Took longer than expected, if I'm being honest-like."

The tricorder emitted a tiny chirp while it scanned for life signs, electromagnetic fluctuations, holographic residue--anything that might explain the auditory strangeness he'd just heard. According to the tricorder, everything was normal. Of course it was.

"Perfectly normal," he muttered. "Just me, a ghost voice, and my good friend Mr. Tricorder pretending everything is fine."

He should call it in. Log it, report it, let the senior officers wrestle with the metaphysics of a ship that talks back using your own voice. But there was something in his gut that told him to resist. Instinct, perhaps. Or pride. Or just a healthy dislike of looking ridiculous in front of Lieutenant Esquivias and Lieutenant Magnus.

Garo adjusted the strap of his toolkit and resumed walking, more slowly now, eyes darting to the shadows that had not moved. At the junction, he stopped again, his hand ready to draw Mr. Tricorder like a gunfighter from the Old West. A technologically advanced gunfighter, thought Garo.

"If this ends in Jefferies tube therapy session," he whispered quietly. "I expect back pay for emotional labour."

"... internal sensor grid detecting..."

There it was again--his own voice but somehow distorted.

Garo could feel his heart racing as he struggled to make sense of the situation. No, he would wash his hands of this and report directly to the senior officer on-duty. He hoped it wasn't Anna. He could not afford to look foolish again.

He swallowed hard and made another pass with his tricorder.

"Is very eerie and I don't like it," he said, his voice heavy with stress.

Again, his tricorder confirmed that all was well.

Which meant, of course, that something was deeply and horribly wrong.

He turned the next corner cautiously, toolkit snug against his ribs, the tread of his boots seeming too loud in his own ears. The corridor curved ahead and yet something about it felt subtly off, like everything was just a dream.

"... recalibrate... dried apricots... annoying..."

It was his voice again. But this time, these snippets of phrases had actually been spoken by Garo earlier that day. Except now, it sounded like someone had chopped the sentence into pieces, reassembled them in a blender, and run the result through five layers of static.

Garo froze. The voice hadn't come from behind him.

It had come from inside the bulkhead.

He approached the nearest panel with theatrical caution, pulled his tricorder again and ran another scan. Still nothing. No sign of playback devices, subspace interference, hidden holoprojectors, or stowaway ventriloquists. The air was warm and dry. The power readings were normal.

But something was off. The hairs on the back of his neck knew it. And those little guys didn't lie.

"... do you ever wonder if you're real?"

That one stopped him cold.

Garo blinked. "That's a new one."

He reached up to scratch his head--then stopped himself. No sudden moves, in case the corridor was sentient now, he thought. He glanced down at the tricorder screen like it held the answers to life, the universe and whatever this eldritch nonsense was.

Still no help.

He glanced to his left, toward the auxiliary systems junction. Another scan, just to be sure.

"... Garo?"

This one was quiet. Too quiet.

It sounded like it had been whispered into the back of his brain.

"Right," he said. "Absolutely not."

He turned to leave--and ran straight into someone.

Garo let out a strangled noise that he would deny--under threat of court martial--was a yelp.

The crewmember--a tall, wiry, Andorian--staggered back with a startled expression.

"Easy!" they said, hands up. "Just Lieutenant Farotan. From Stellar Cartography. Are you alright?"

It took Garo a full two seconds to parse the words. They had not sounded like Farotan's voice at first. For just a heartbeat, they'd sounded like his own again, once again filtered to hell and back.

"Oh. Uh. Fine," he managed weakly. "Totally fine. Just communing with disembodied echoes of my professional regrets."

Farotan blinked at him.

"Joking," Garo clarified. "Mostly. Did you hear anything odd back there, sir?"

The lanky Andorian frowned. "No, Ensign." Farotan eyed Garo suspiciously. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Garo gave the most nonchalant shrug he could muster while quietly dying inside. "Never better."

As Farotan passed him and rounded the corner, Garo turned to glance back at the bulkhead behind him.

It did not speak again.

However, he had the distinct feeling it was listening.

* * *

Ensign Garabed "Garo" Hakobyan
Transporter Specialist / Operations
USS Elysium