Yesterday, 05:42 PM
Riley hung back by the Science rail, feet planted, shoulders squared, hands tucked behind her so she didn’t snag a sleeve on someone passing. The Bridge moved around her with that practiced rhythm—quiet voices, steady steps, consoles blinking like they knew their jobs. The air had that hot-circuit smell that meant things were working hard, not breaking.
Just stay in your lane. Don’t add to the noise.
Another wave of interference rolled across the forward displays, flashing them white for a second that felt longer than it was. The hum under her boots deepened, then settled. Helm’s voice came through clean, right on cue. Somewhere in front of her, keyboard taps picked up—Science running checks again, refusing to guess.
Let them do the thinking. You carry it when they’re ready.
She kept her weight forward, knees loose, holding the space between Science and the main walkway. The repeater screen teased something close to order—bars tightening, numbers flickering toward stable—then slipped back into static, like a voice just about to surface before fading out again.
Don’t chase it. Let the answer come to you.
Flint’s Tusslebout comment landed sharp and dry. Riley clocked it, didn’t react. No one said her name. No call for Security, just presence. She shifted half a step to hold her sightline—quiet, adjusting around everyone else’s path.
Be helpful by being simple. Space matters. Guard it.
Qi and Mendoza were locked in—eyes, hands, breath all synced to the data. Riley watched the subtle shifts, the way their focus narrowed when the numbers almost held. Her PADD stayed open in her hand: one line waiting.
Blank’s fine. You’ll write it in when it’s real.
The ship flinched—more twitch than hit—and steadied. Somewhere to starboard, a panel beeped twice and shut up. Voices stayed clipped: just requests, affirmatives, course and speed. No extra words. It sounded like people who knew better than to crowd the moment.
Match the room. Keep your breath small. Think lean.
For a second, the forward display cleared just enough to catch a silhouette—distance crushed into a single bright thread—then bled white again. Riley let the pulse roll through her instead of bracing, letting her joints take the energy so her boots stayed planted.
Don’t lock up. Move when it counts, not before.
Her eyes tracked the variance bands on the repeater—one, two, three before each spike dropped off. Still no orders. Nothing from Science. No reason to speak. She let the seconds stack, steady as tick marks.
If they need you, you’ll know. Until then: listen. Breathe. Be there.
Just stay in your lane. Don’t add to the noise.
Another wave of interference rolled across the forward displays, flashing them white for a second that felt longer than it was. The hum under her boots deepened, then settled. Helm’s voice came through clean, right on cue. Somewhere in front of her, keyboard taps picked up—Science running checks again, refusing to guess.
Let them do the thinking. You carry it when they’re ready.
She kept her weight forward, knees loose, holding the space between Science and the main walkway. The repeater screen teased something close to order—bars tightening, numbers flickering toward stable—then slipped back into static, like a voice just about to surface before fading out again.
Don’t chase it. Let the answer come to you.
Flint’s Tusslebout comment landed sharp and dry. Riley clocked it, didn’t react. No one said her name. No call for Security, just presence. She shifted half a step to hold her sightline—quiet, adjusting around everyone else’s path.
Be helpful by being simple. Space matters. Guard it.
Qi and Mendoza were locked in—eyes, hands, breath all synced to the data. Riley watched the subtle shifts, the way their focus narrowed when the numbers almost held. Her PADD stayed open in her hand: one line waiting.
Blank’s fine. You’ll write it in when it’s real.
The ship flinched—more twitch than hit—and steadied. Somewhere to starboard, a panel beeped twice and shut up. Voices stayed clipped: just requests, affirmatives, course and speed. No extra words. It sounded like people who knew better than to crowd the moment.
Match the room. Keep your breath small. Think lean.
For a second, the forward display cleared just enough to catch a silhouette—distance crushed into a single bright thread—then bled white again. Riley let the pulse roll through her instead of bracing, letting her joints take the energy so her boots stayed planted.
Don’t lock up. Move when it counts, not before.
Her eyes tracked the variance bands on the repeater—one, two, three before each spike dropped off. Still no orders. Nothing from Science. No reason to speak. She let the seconds stack, steady as tick marks.
If they need you, you’ll know. Until then: listen. Breathe. Be there.