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Engineering Deck 1
Lieutenant Officer Percival Thorne stood stood with his hands on his hips, watching the warp diagnostics scroll across the main display. Lamorak and Tamsin were arguing quietly over the efficiency of the new plasma injectors.
“They’re running hot,” Lamorak insisted, tapping the injector housing with the back of a wrench.
“They’re fine, Varrin.” Tamsin countered, arms crossed, “You just don’t like the new calibration curves.”
“It’s not about liking—”
“It’s always about linking with you.”
Percival didn’t bother turning around, “If either of you breaks those injectors, I’m making you explain it to the Captain.”
Silence.
Then, grudgingly both responded with a “Yes, sir.”
Meanwhile, Lieutenant JG Mira ran a tricorder along the gleaming alloy surface of the warp manifold with the serene focus of someone who genuinely enjoyed her job. The dark spots on her temples caught the blue light, giving her an almost ethereal glow. “Manifold resonance is still stable, Sir,” Mira reported, “No micro-fractures detected.”
“Good,” Percival said, “Let’s keep it that way.”
A clatter echoed from behind him.
Ensing Safir Palamedes, Percival’s engineering apprentice, was carrying a toolkit twice his size and nearly tripped over a coolant conduit. The toolkit wobbled dangerously.
Percival reached out and caught him by the collar without looking, “Careful, Ensign Palamedes, I don’t want to explain to the Captain why we lost an Ensign to a coolant leak.”
Safir nodded vigorously, cheeks red, “Yes, sir! Sorry, sir!” And scurried off.
Percival sighed, but there was fondness in it, “Kid’s going to give me a heart attack,” He muttered.
Science Division
The deck was quiet, lit with soft white panels and lined with consoles that hummed with analytical precision. The Science Division felt like a library built inside a starship, calm and focused, filled with the faint scent of recycled air and old datapads.
Merlin sat at a console in the Cultural studies alcove, surrounded by datapads, linguistic matrices, and a half-finished mug of coffee that had gone cold hours ago. He was supposed to be reviewing Xenolinguistic protocols for Outer Veil anomalies. Instead, he was trying to figure out how to organize his workstation without looking like he’d never used one before.
He shifted one datapad. Then another. Then moved them back. Then he stacked them. Then he unstacked them.
It was clearly going well.
Lieutenant Elira Vance passed by, glanced at his desk, and paused, “...Do you need help?”
Merlin looked up, startled, “No! I mean, ah, yes? Maybe. I’m still, ah, settling.”
Elira smiled, the kind that suggested she decided Merlin was harmless. Exactly what Morgana had wanted.
“Welcome to the Camelot, Lieutenant Commander Emerysson.”
Merlin tried not to knock over his mug as he nodded, nearly failing. The mug wobbled dangerously before he caught it, cheeks flushing.
Elira moved on, returning to her station with easy confidence, and Merlin watched, then looked back at his desk, the chaotic sprawl of datapads and half-finished notes.
He sighed.
Across the room, Mordred sat at the Astrometrics consol, silent and still. He hadn’t spoken to Merlin since the bridge. He hadn’t needed to, to be fair.
Merlin could feel the weight of Mordred’s attention even when Mordred didn’t look at him.
It was like standing near a sensor array tuned to the wrong frequency, a faint hum at the edge of his awareness, a pressure that made everything feel thicker, as though the room itself were listening.
Mordred’s fingers moved across his console with precise, almost delicate motions, adjusting starfield projections and mapping warp trajectories with the calm focus of someone who understood the universe in ways other people didn’t. Way’s they couldn’t.
He didn’t glance at Merlin.
Merlin shifted in his seat, trying to ignore the prickling sensation along the back of his neck. He reorganized his datapads for the fourth time, trying to look busy.
Just like Merlin often tried to ignore Mordred.
Key word: Tried.
Every so often, Mordred’s stillness seemed to sharpen, not a movement, nor a sound, just a subtle shift. Merlin swallowed.
He wasn’t sure if Mordred was curious, suspicious, or simply way too aware.
But whatever it was, it made Merlin feel exposed in a way he hadn’t felt since Morgana had first told him what he was.
He rubbed his palms against his uniform, trying to dispel the tension. It didn’t work, of course.
The hum of the ship vibrated through the deck plating, steady and soothing, but Merlin couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was humming with it.
He glanced towards Mordred again, but the man didn’t look up.
But Merlin could swear he felt the slightest ripple of attention, like a whisper brushing the edge of his mind.
Merlin looked away quickly. He needed to focus.
Captain’s Room
Arthur’s room was quiet, lit only by the soft glow of the desk console and the long viewport stretching across the wall. Outside, the warp light streamed past in pale ribbons, casting shifting reflections across the room like ghostly brushstrokes.
Arthur sat at his desk, reviewing the mission parameters for a third time. The datapad in his hand displayed Outer Veil star charts, hazard projections, and the latest updates from Starfleet Command. He wasn’t really reading them anymore, just staring at the words, thinking.
Gwen stood beside him, arms folded, watching the stars streak past the viewport. Her posture was relaxed, but her eyes were sharp, always assessing and aware. “Everyone’s settled nicely, even Emerysson.” Gwen said.
Arthur didn’t look up, “He tripped over a cable, I haven’t seen him since.”
Gwen’s lips curved, “Well, he’s recovered from it. He’s easily flustered I’ve found.”
Arthur finally glanced up, brow raised, “He nearly took out the comm station.”
Gwen smiled, like she found his dramatics endearing, “Oh, he’s harmless. Don’t exaggerate.”
Arthur frowned, “His harmlessness worries me.”
Gwen didn’t respond immediately, she shifted her weight, turning slightly so she could see Arthur’s face more clearly. The warp light caught the silver of her pips, making them gleam.
Arthur Pendragon trusted his instincts, both fiercely and stubbornly, and sometimes he trusted them to a fault. But he also trusted Gwen. She had been at his side since the Academy, through promotions, crises, and the long complicated shadow of his Father’s expectations.
And through the equally complicated fact that she was dating his sister.
She knew when to challenge him and to reassure him. She knew when to let him sit with his unease. So, she didn’t argue, didn’t dismiss his concerns, just stood at his side, letting him think.
Arthur exhaled slowly, rubbing his thumb along the edge of the datapad.
“He’s different,” Arthur said at last, “I can’t place it, but he doesn’t feel like a Lieutenant Commander. Gods only know why Morgana placed him there.”
Gwen tilted her head, “Different isn’t bad, is it?”
“No,” Arthur admitted, “But it’s unpredictable.”
Gwen’s smile softened, “Arthur, half the crew is unpredictable. That’s what happens when you put two hundred brilliant, eccentric people on a ship and tell them to explore the unknown.”
Arthur huffed a quiet laugh, “Fair,”
Gwen stepped closer, resting a hand lightly on the back of his chair, “He’ll find his footing. And if he doesn’t, we’ll help him. That’s what we do.”
Arthur looked up at her, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction.
Arthur tapped the datapad off and leaned back, gaze drifting to the stars, “We’ll see,” He murmured.
Gwen smiled again, familiar, “We always do, don’t we.”
Mess Hall
The mess hall buzzed with quiet conversation, the kind of low-level chatter that made spaces feel alive. The lighting was warm, the air smelled faintly of replicated spices, and the long tables were filled with officers easing into the rhythm of life between the stars.
Tactical officers clustered around one table, arguing about the best phaser configurations for the Outer Veil.
“You’re not accounting for signal distortion,” Selene Ward, a Vulcan Lieutenant insisted.
“I’m accounting for not dying,” Holt Haro countered, his blue skin caught the light of the Mess hall.
Security cadeys compared bruises from their morning drills, each one insisting their injury was ‘worse’.
A group of engineers debated the merits of Tellarite versus Andorian coolant systems.
Lieutenant Gwaine lounged in a corner booth, feet up, telling a story that was definitely exaggerated, and possibly illegal.
Merlin sat across from him, poking at a bowl of something the replicator insisted was soup.
Gwaine grinned as he wrapped up his story, “You’ll get used to Warp travel in this type of vessel. First few days always feels weird.”
Merlin nodded along, “It’s not the Warp travel.”
Gwaine raised an eyebrow, “You can’t still be hung up on the Bridge incident?”
Merlin flushed, “I didn’t mean to trip.”
“No one ever does,” Gwaine said cheerfully, “That’s why its a trip. But hey, you made an impression. I mean, Mordred doesn’t stare at just anyone.”
“Thats… not as comforting as you’re hoping.”
“Oh, I’m not trying to be comforting.”
Merlin stared at him.
Gwaine winked.
Science Division
Merlin rubbed his temples, trying to focus on the linguistic matrix in front of him. The overhead lights glowed in a steady white wash, warm enough to be comforting, but bright enough to keep the mind alert. The symbols on the datapad blurred slightly, not because they were complex, but because his concentration was slipping. He took a slow breath, letting the hum of the lights settle him.
Then, a flicker. Not of the lights or any of the electronics. A faint vibration in the air, like a whisper brushing the back of his mind. Merlin froze, eyes on the page but not seeing it.
The lights dimmed for half a second, barely noticeable unless you were watching, but it was enough to make the hair on his arms rise.
Across the room, Mordred’s head snapped up.
He didn’t otherwise move, didn’t speak, nor blink. He simply looked, eyes locked onto Merlin with a precision that felt surgical.
Merlin slowly met his gaze.
“You felt that,” Mordred said quietly. His voice wasn’t accusing, but acting as if he already knew the answer.
Merlin swallowed, “I… don’t know what I felt.”
Mordred stood, moving towards Merlin with slow, deliberate steps, “That wasn’t the ship.”
Merlin’s pulse quickened, “What was it?”
Mordred’s voice dropped to a whisper, eyes flicking to the viewport and the endless stretch of warp-blurred stars, “Something outside.”
The words sank into Merlin’s chest like a weight… Then Merlin’s console chimed sharply, an alert from the bridge. He looked down at the console.
TRANSLATION SPECIALIST REQUESTED - ANOMALOUS SIGNAL DETECTED
The message pulsed on the screen, bright and insistent. Merlin stared at the message as Mordred stared at him. The hum of the light suddenly felt less comforting, and the air felt thicker.
Mordred’s expression didn’t change, but something in his posture shifted, “You should probably head up, Emerysson.”
Merlin pushed back from his console, hands trembling slightly. He grabbed his datapad, nearly dropping it, before forching himself to breathe.
He wasn’t trained for this. Not properly.
But the bridge needed him, and he might be the best the ship has at xenolinguistics.
And, something was out there, something on the fringes of the Outer Veil, had reached out. Merlin wasn’t sure if it was calling to them, if it was warning them, if it was even alive or a distant pulse of energy.
But he felt it. And Mordred had too.
Merlin took one last look at Mordred, the Lieutenant’s eyes were still fixed on him, dark and unreadable, as though he were seeing something Merlin couldn’t hide.
Merlin swallowed hard, then turned toward the door.