“Thresholds”

Posted on Mon Jun 2nd, 2025 @ 8:00am by Commodore Phoenix Lalor-Richardson

Mission: Season 6: Echoes of the Zynari
Location: Ready Room, USS Elysium
Timeline: MD5 - 1600
857 words - 1.7 OF Standard Post Measure

The stars beyond the Ready Room viewport shimmered faintly, casting cold light across the smooth edge of Phoenix's desk. They were constant. Steady. Predictable.

Unlike everything else aboard her ship.

Phoenix stood alone, arms loosely crossed, a single brow arched as her gaze swept across the PADD in her hand—yet another report filed under the now-familiar category: ZYNARI-RELATED INCIDENT – CLASS B. This one involved a crewman’s boots that refused to release from the deck plating until he told a knock-knock joke.

She might have laughed—two days ago.

Now, her eyes skimmed lower: life-support dip in a civilian corridor, gravity fluctuations in Deck 14’s Marine training center, and the worst yet—tactical systems activating near family quarters, targeting a child’s hoverball with a low-level phaser burst. No injuries. That line was still holding.

Barely.

She turned away from the viewport and set the PADD down with careful precision.

"Avalon," she said quietly, addressing the ship’s integrated AI, "status report, last three hours."

Avalon's warm, melodic voice responded instantly. “Seventeen minor anomalies. Five replicated misidentifications. Two gravity shifts. One emergency bulkhead sealed without cause. No injuries. Crew morale… moderate, but fraying.”

Phoenix let out a long, low breath. “They’ve stopped being playful.”

“The pattern suggests rising instability. I believe the Zynari are still acting without malice.
However, their energy signatures are fragmenting. It's possible they’re unaware of the disruption they’re causing.”

Or worse, Phoenix thought grimly, they’re no longer in full control.

She paced slowly toward the window again. Just that morning, she'd stepped into her ready room to find a flock of tiny holographic phoenixes flitting in lazy loops around her desk. One had perched on her chair, cocked its head, and chirped a melody in perfect harmony with the ship’s ambient hum.

It had been… lovely. Thoughtful, even.

But thirty seconds later, her desk had started growing flowers. From inside.

She’d called Engineering. Then she'd watched those phoenixes dissolve into sparks that left her skin tingling for an hour.

Charming? Yes.

Safe? No longer.

With one final breath, she tapped her combadge.

“Bridge, open a ship-wide channel.”

The quiet chirp came a moment later.

And then, the Elysium listened.

“This is Commodore Lalor-Richardson. Attention all hands.”

Her voice, smooth and clear, carried across corridors, departments, and quarters. The voice of a leader—not shaken, but sharpened by concern.

“Over the past several days, we have experienced a sequence of anomalous events throughout the ship. These incidents, while initially harmless, have escalated in both frequency and impact. Our current understanding attributes these phenomena to the presence of the Zynari, a non-corporeal extradimensional species with whom we’ve had limited, though persistent, contact.”

“Their presence appears to have originated out of curiosity. Their actions have, until now, been playful—light-hearted illusions, minor alterations to systems, displays of childlike behavior.”

“As of today, I can no longer categorize these events as benign.”

She turned slightly, looking toward the stars once more.

“We have logged multiple failures in essential systems—brief power fluctuations in life support, gravity inconsistencies resulting in injuries, and a recent incident involving the tactical array misfiring in proximity to our civilian quarters.”

“These events were not fatal. But that does not mean they were harmless. That line is blurring too fast.”

Her voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to.

“Effective immediately, I am authorizing Alert Protocol Level Two. This alert is internal only. It requires all department heads to increase system monitoring, log all anomalies regardless of perceived severity, and ensure all personnel are aware of developing risks.”

“Furthermore, I am forming a cross-departmental task force to analyze and categorize every incident to date. This includes Science, Engineering, Operations, Medical, Intelligence, and Tactical. Avalon will assist. We must determine if all interference remains of Zynari origin, or if a secondary presence has emerged amid the chaos.”

“If something else is hiding behind their mischief, using it as cover… we must find it before it finds us.”

A pause. Not of uncertainty—but gravity.

“To Security and Tactical: begin silent monitoring of key systems and control interfaces. Look for patterns, for spikes, for anything that feels off. I don’t want panic. I want precision.”

“Senior staff meeting at 2100 hours. Department heads will come prepared with full reports—log excerpts, anomaly trends, and containment suggestions. If you’ve seen something strange, don’t dismiss it. Bring it.”

“We are not at war. But we are being tested. And we will respond.”

“That is all. Lalor-Richardson out.”

The channel closed with a soft chirp.

Silence returned.

Phoenix lowered her hand and turned slowly back toward her desk. Outside, stars wheeled past in steady arcs—still cold, still beautiful, still distant.

She didn’t trust them.

Not right now.

Not when a whisper of laughter could flicker through the deck plating, and a child’s toy might trigger a weapons lock. Not when the ship’s own avatar expressed concern in poetic algorithms, warning her that the Zynari were losing cohesion.

This was her ship. Her crew. Her family.

And it was time to draw the line.