Yesterday, 03:35 PM
== Impulse Deck ==
Riley didn’t argue with the plan. She didn’t need to. d’Tor’an had already made it clear they weren’t about to funnel all three of them into a Jeffries tube, and Riley understood the logic behind it even as her pulse refused to settle.
Good. Because that’s how you get boxed in.
She stayed a half-step back from the hatch, letting the Chief own the space in front of it. The warped seam and scorched servos were still the loudest part of the story—closed without being secure, heat-fused in places like the ship had tried to cauterize the evidence all on its own.
Crescent worked nearby with her tricorder, quiet and steady. Riley didn’t crowd her, didn’t try to peek over her shoulder. Instead she did what she could do: kept her peripheral wide, watched angles, and listened for anything that didn’t belong in the Impulse Deck’s constant hum.
But the captain’s earlier message wouldn’t let her sit comfortably in the background.
It hadn’t started here. It had started when the captain had put Tomer in her care—escort him, keep him where eyes could stay on him. Not because he was helpless, but because he might be dangerous. And now he was missing, and every second he stayed out of sight felt like another second he could be doing exactly what the captain feared he’d do.
If he’s the saboteur… then he’s exactly where he wants to be.
Riley forced a slow inhale, then another, letting the ship’s familiar smells and vibrations ground her before she spoke. This wasn’t the Academy. This wasn’t a drill. And d’Tor’an didn’t need a junior officer throwing suggestions around like orders.
So Riley kept it simple.
“Chief,” she said quietly, eyes still on the hatch, “if you need someone to go in… I can.”
She didn’t dress it up. She didn’t pretend it was only bravery. It wasn’t. It was that tight, stubborn need in her chest to put herself where the consequences were—because she’d been there at the start, because she’d been the one assigned to keep him in view, and because she couldn’t shake the feeling that this mess had her name written on it whether anyone said so out loud or not.
“If he’s using the accessways to move,” she added, careful and controlled, “I’m willing to follow. I’ll keep comms open and back out the second you call it.”
Her hand hovered near her phaser holster without drawing, readiness without theatrics. Then she stilled again, giving the hatch room and waiting for d’Tor’an’s answer—because offering was one thing.
Deciding was the Chief’s job.
== Tags ==
Riley didn’t argue with the plan. She didn’t need to. d’Tor’an had already made it clear they weren’t about to funnel all three of them into a Jeffries tube, and Riley understood the logic behind it even as her pulse refused to settle.
Good. Because that’s how you get boxed in.
She stayed a half-step back from the hatch, letting the Chief own the space in front of it. The warped seam and scorched servos were still the loudest part of the story—closed without being secure, heat-fused in places like the ship had tried to cauterize the evidence all on its own.
Crescent worked nearby with her tricorder, quiet and steady. Riley didn’t crowd her, didn’t try to peek over her shoulder. Instead she did what she could do: kept her peripheral wide, watched angles, and listened for anything that didn’t belong in the Impulse Deck’s constant hum.
But the captain’s earlier message wouldn’t let her sit comfortably in the background.
It hadn’t started here. It had started when the captain had put Tomer in her care—escort him, keep him where eyes could stay on him. Not because he was helpless, but because he might be dangerous. And now he was missing, and every second he stayed out of sight felt like another second he could be doing exactly what the captain feared he’d do.
If he’s the saboteur… then he’s exactly where he wants to be.
Riley forced a slow inhale, then another, letting the ship’s familiar smells and vibrations ground her before she spoke. This wasn’t the Academy. This wasn’t a drill. And d’Tor’an didn’t need a junior officer throwing suggestions around like orders.
So Riley kept it simple.
“Chief,” she said quietly, eyes still on the hatch, “if you need someone to go in… I can.”
She didn’t dress it up. She didn’t pretend it was only bravery. It wasn’t. It was that tight, stubborn need in her chest to put herself where the consequences were—because she’d been there at the start, because she’d been the one assigned to keep him in view, and because she couldn’t shake the feeling that this mess had her name written on it whether anyone said so out loud or not.
“If he’s using the accessways to move,” she added, careful and controlled, “I’m willing to follow. I’ll keep comms open and back out the second you call it.”
Her hand hovered near her phaser holster without drawing, readiness without theatrics. Then she stilled again, giving the hatch room and waiting for d’Tor’an’s answer—because offering was one thing.
Deciding was the Chief’s job.
== Tags ==