12-01-2025, 03:43 PM
The corridor was quiet.
Not “creepy holonovel” quiet, just normal ship quiet. The low hum under the deck, air moving through the vents, the feeling that most of the life on Yeager was happening a few bulkheads away. All of that felt routine. The only thing that didn’t was the closed hatch in front of her, and the fact that it was still giving her absolutely nothing.
Riley kept her eyes on Tomer’s door. Her breathing was steady enough, but she could feel her pulse tapping away a little harder than she liked at the base of her throat. The computer had said he was inside. He wasn’t answering. The longer that stayed true, the more it poked at a part of her mind she really didn’t want awake right now.
You’re not ten, and this isn’t an airlock, she told herself. You’re in uniform. On duty. With another Security officer a few steps away. Do your job.
She didn’t look back, but she knew exactly where Crescent was—off to the side of the hatch, where Riley had put her earlier, out of the direct line if the door popped suddenly. Just knowing the petty officer was there, watching the angle Riley wasn’t, took a bit of weight off her shoulders.
“Still nothing,” she said, mostly so it wasn’t completely silent. “No movement, no reply.”
The hatch just sat there, flat and grey and unhelpful.
Okay. Enough of this.
Riley shifted her stance so she wasn’t standing dead centre in front of the door. She turned just enough to get at the control panel comfortably, her thumb finding the edge of the recess like it had done it a thousand times—which, to be fair, it kind of had. For a couple of seconds she just let it rest there while she caught up to the decision she already knew she was going to make.
“This isn’t right,” she muttered. “We’re past polite knocking.”
Her jaw clenched and then she forced herself to let it go with a slow breath out. Decision made. No sense dragging her heels now.
“Petty Officer, maintain your position,” Riley said, letting the words come out in that calm, Academy-drilled tone that always sounded a little more confident than she felt. “If this is medical, we clear a path and keep things calm. If it isn’t… stay sharp, and leave the phaser alone unless it’s absolutely needed.”
She didn’t wait for an answer. Crescent would respond—or not—however Crescent chose to. Riley wasn’t going to script that in her head.
She turned fully back to the panel and tapped the security access pad. The LCARS display shifted into the override sequence, coloured bands and neat little blocks of text she knew far too well from drills. Her fingers moved on their own as she put in her code; all the training doors that never really mattered had led up to this one that might.
The panel chirped. Inside the hatch, the locks released with a solid, mechanical clunk she felt through her fingers on the frame more than she heard with her ears.
Riley stayed just off to one side of the opening, knees loose, weight ready to go forward or back. “Eyes up,” she said quietly, mostly to herself. “VIP quarters. We’re here to help, not storm the place.”
The door slid open in one smooth motion, vanishing into the bulkhead. Softer cabin light spilled out into the corridor, warmer than the corridor glow, and a breath of air came with it. Nothing sharp or wrong hit her nose—no smoke, no chemical bite, no metallic tang. Just standard ship air with a bit of “somebody lives here” mixed in.
She stepped up to the threshold and set her hand lightly on the doorframe, but she didn’t cross it yet. With the hatch open, the whole situation felt different; less like staring at a wall and more like standing on the edge of a question.
You’ve got air. You’ve got space. You’ve got options, she reminded herself, using the solid feel of the frame under her fingers to steady herself. It’s just a cabin. You’re the one choosing to go in.
From the doorway she let her eyes move slowly across the parts of the room she could see—the nearest furniture, the level of the lights, any shadows that looked off, anything that snagged her attention as “not how it should be.” Habit did its thing in the background, quietly sorting everything into “fine,” “maybe important,” and “no idea yet.”
Her heart was still going a bit fast, but her breathing stayed even. Now that the room was open, the silence inside didn’t feel private anymore; it felt like someone had left a sentence unfinished and walked away.
She was very aware of Crescent somewhere behind her in the corridor, still where Riley had posted her, covering the angle Riley wasn’t watching. That simple fact helped keep her shoulders from creeping up toward her ears.
If he’s fine, you’re going to look a little stupid, she admitted to herself. If he’s not, you’re going to be glad you opened the door. You can live with one of those a lot easier than the other.
Riley didn’t back off.
She adjusted her footing just enough to give herself a clean entry angle, free hand hovering in a neutral spot where it could go to her phaser if she absolutely needed it, but staying well away from the holster for now. Her gaze kept moving over everything she could see from the threshold, watching for any sign of movement—or the stubborn lack of it.
Whatever was going on in there, she was done just standing in the corridor and guessing.
== Tag Crescent ==
== GM-Input: With the hatch fully open , what do Riley and Crescent see and/or hear inside Tomer’s quarters—Tomer’s position, condition, and any immediately visible environmental or situational hazards from the doorway? ==
Not “creepy holonovel” quiet, just normal ship quiet. The low hum under the deck, air moving through the vents, the feeling that most of the life on Yeager was happening a few bulkheads away. All of that felt routine. The only thing that didn’t was the closed hatch in front of her, and the fact that it was still giving her absolutely nothing.
Riley kept her eyes on Tomer’s door. Her breathing was steady enough, but she could feel her pulse tapping away a little harder than she liked at the base of her throat. The computer had said he was inside. He wasn’t answering. The longer that stayed true, the more it poked at a part of her mind she really didn’t want awake right now.
You’re not ten, and this isn’t an airlock, she told herself. You’re in uniform. On duty. With another Security officer a few steps away. Do your job.
She didn’t look back, but she knew exactly where Crescent was—off to the side of the hatch, where Riley had put her earlier, out of the direct line if the door popped suddenly. Just knowing the petty officer was there, watching the angle Riley wasn’t, took a bit of weight off her shoulders.
“Still nothing,” she said, mostly so it wasn’t completely silent. “No movement, no reply.”
The hatch just sat there, flat and grey and unhelpful.
Okay. Enough of this.
Riley shifted her stance so she wasn’t standing dead centre in front of the door. She turned just enough to get at the control panel comfortably, her thumb finding the edge of the recess like it had done it a thousand times—which, to be fair, it kind of had. For a couple of seconds she just let it rest there while she caught up to the decision she already knew she was going to make.
“This isn’t right,” she muttered. “We’re past polite knocking.”
Her jaw clenched and then she forced herself to let it go with a slow breath out. Decision made. No sense dragging her heels now.
“Petty Officer, maintain your position,” Riley said, letting the words come out in that calm, Academy-drilled tone that always sounded a little more confident than she felt. “If this is medical, we clear a path and keep things calm. If it isn’t… stay sharp, and leave the phaser alone unless it’s absolutely needed.”
She didn’t wait for an answer. Crescent would respond—or not—however Crescent chose to. Riley wasn’t going to script that in her head.
She turned fully back to the panel and tapped the security access pad. The LCARS display shifted into the override sequence, coloured bands and neat little blocks of text she knew far too well from drills. Her fingers moved on their own as she put in her code; all the training doors that never really mattered had led up to this one that might.
The panel chirped. Inside the hatch, the locks released with a solid, mechanical clunk she felt through her fingers on the frame more than she heard with her ears.
Riley stayed just off to one side of the opening, knees loose, weight ready to go forward or back. “Eyes up,” she said quietly, mostly to herself. “VIP quarters. We’re here to help, not storm the place.”
The door slid open in one smooth motion, vanishing into the bulkhead. Softer cabin light spilled out into the corridor, warmer than the corridor glow, and a breath of air came with it. Nothing sharp or wrong hit her nose—no smoke, no chemical bite, no metallic tang. Just standard ship air with a bit of “somebody lives here” mixed in.
She stepped up to the threshold and set her hand lightly on the doorframe, but she didn’t cross it yet. With the hatch open, the whole situation felt different; less like staring at a wall and more like standing on the edge of a question.
You’ve got air. You’ve got space. You’ve got options, she reminded herself, using the solid feel of the frame under her fingers to steady herself. It’s just a cabin. You’re the one choosing to go in.
From the doorway she let her eyes move slowly across the parts of the room she could see—the nearest furniture, the level of the lights, any shadows that looked off, anything that snagged her attention as “not how it should be.” Habit did its thing in the background, quietly sorting everything into “fine,” “maybe important,” and “no idea yet.”
Her heart was still going a bit fast, but her breathing stayed even. Now that the room was open, the silence inside didn’t feel private anymore; it felt like someone had left a sentence unfinished and walked away.
She was very aware of Crescent somewhere behind her in the corridor, still where Riley had posted her, covering the angle Riley wasn’t watching. That simple fact helped keep her shoulders from creeping up toward her ears.
If he’s fine, you’re going to look a little stupid, she admitted to herself. If he’s not, you’re going to be glad you opened the door. You can live with one of those a lot easier than the other.
Riley didn’t back off.
She adjusted her footing just enough to give herself a clean entry angle, free hand hovering in a neutral spot where it could go to her phaser if she absolutely needed it, but staying well away from the holster for now. Her gaze kept moving over everything she could see from the threshold, watching for any sign of movement—or the stubborn lack of it.
Whatever was going on in there, she was done just standing in the corridor and guessing.
== Tag Crescent ==
== GM-Input: With the hatch fully open , what do Riley and Crescent see and/or hear inside Tomer’s quarters—Tomer’s position, condition, and any immediately visible environmental or situational hazards from the doorway? ==