The Odyssey’s hull creaked under the strain of subspace turbulence—deep groans vibrating through the bridge like distant thunder underwater. A dim red warning light pulsed from engineering, illuminating the worried faces of the sole engineer in rhythmic flashes.
"Status on the pressure fields?" Captain Winter barked, eyes locked onto the spatial readouts that flickered with erratic intensity.
Lt. Mira Daan didn’t hesitate. "Fluctuating, sir. It's not behaving like any natural turbulence we’ve catalogued. The readings are resonant... almost patterned."
"Patterned?" Dr. Elara Kane leaned over Mira’s station. "You’re saying it's... deliberate?"
Before Mira could respond, the bridge dimmed—then darkened entirely, save for the main view screen. The two unknown contacts hovered in silent formation, their sleek forms jagged with anomalies that defied conventional physics. It wasn’t just pursuit. It was choreography - or so it seemed...
“They’re shadowing us,” said Helm Officer Zeke, his voice low. “Four o'clock and eight. No deviation. They're responding to our movements, but not initiating contact. It's like... they’re studying us.”
A chill spread through the bridge like frost across glass.
Winter stood, silhouette sharp against the starscape. “Ensign Ryland, run the encryption again. What did that transmission mean?”
Ryland looked pale as he brought it up. "Sir… it's not language. It’s tonal. Like subspace harmonics. Almost a song."
"A song," Kane repeated slowly, as if tasting the word. "Or a warning."
Suddenly, the Odyssey shuddered—not from impact, but from pressure. Space warped briefly around them, a pulse pushing outward like a heartbeat. One of the contacts blinked out of view... only to reappear closer, too close.
“Captain,” Mira said quietly, “it’s inside the turbulence.”
Winter turned to Engineering. "Divert power to the shields. Prep evasive maneuvers. Zeke—do not jump us yet. They want us to run.”
Zeke’s jaw tightened. “So what do we do?”
Winter narrowed his eyes. The hum of the Odyssey’s core resonated like a tensioned string. Around them, reality flexed and rippled, a silent battlefield unfolding in the unseen layers of space.
“We don’t run,” Winter said. “Not yet.”
*****
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