12-11-2025, 05:04 AM
The darkness felt different once she was inside.
It wasn’t the cut-to-black of a power failure, or the sickly wash of emergency lighting—just that hollow, unoccupied kind of dark that made the room feel more like a stage set than quarters.
“Computer, lights to twenty percent.”
Soft illumination rolled out from the ceiling, pushing the shadows back without quite chasing them away. Starlight from the viewport bled in to meet it, sliding over tidy furniture and clean lines and making everything look a little unreal. Riley let the hatch frame brush her shoulder as she stepped over the threshold, giving herself one last anchor to the corridor before she let it go.
This was supposed to look lived in. It didn’t.
She’d expected… something. A jacket tossed over a chair. A padd face-down where someone had given up reading mid-sentence. A half-finished cup of tea playing coaster for a stack of datapads. Instead, every surface she could see from the doorway looked like it belonged in the ship’s glossy holo-tour—replicator alcove clean, seating aligned just-so, nothing out of place.
Except for the one thing that absolutely should have been.
Her gaze snagged on the glint in the middle of the living area. Riley shifted her weight, boots whispering over carpet as she moved far enough in to see it clearly. The shape was unmistakable, even in the dimmed light. She crouched, keeping her shoulders turned so she wasn’t blocking the doorway completely, and reached down.
The civilian commbadge was cool against her fingers.
That’s wrong, she thought, thumb brushing the smooth face of it as she straightened. You don’t leave this on the floor and go anywhere you’re supposed to be.
She didn’t like how quiet the room was. The air felt still, the way it did after a door had been sealed a while—not stale, not yet, just… undisturbed. The back of her neck prickled. For a heartbeat the doorway behind her wanted to shrink, the walls leaning in, memory and imagination trying to weld themselves together.
Focus, Wright. One thing at a time, she told herself, closing her hand around the badge until she could feel the edges.
She moved further in, slow and deliberate, letting her eyes sweep left and right. The seating area was spotless. The small desk stood neat, terminal dark. Through the open bedroom doorway she could see a perfectly made bed, not a crease out of place; in the bathroom, just the faint suggestion of gleam where fixtures caught the light. No discarded clothing, no used towel draped where someone had grabbed it in a hurry. No shadow of a person in any of it.
Too perfect. Like the room was waiting for its first actual occupant instead of one who’d already been aboard.
Riley drew a steadying breath and angled herself so she could still see a sliver of corridor past the edge of the hatch. Crescent was there—a solid presence at her back even if she couldn’t make out more than a shape and the idea of a phaser pointed away from her and toward whatever might come. Riley let her gaze flick back toward the other woman for a heartbeat, the tight set of her jaw and the shallow, controlled breath she took doing the talking for her; if Crescent caught the look, she’d know Riley didn’t think this was routine anymore.
“No sign of him,” she said, loud enough for Bailey and the open channel both. “Quarters are secure, look untouched. Civilian commbadge recovered inside.”
There it was—the line between probably overreacting and this goes in someone’s report. She didn’t hesitate.
“Wright to Security,” she said, letting the words fall into the quiet. “Be advised, Mister Tomer is unaccounted for. On arrival, his assigned quarters were secured with no sign of forced entry or obvious disturbance. His issued commbadge was located on the floor inside. Request initiation of missing person protocols and dispatch of additional personnel to my location.”
She waited half a beat, listening for any crackle of acknowledgement from her combadge, then continued.
“Wright to Captain Braggins. Ma’am, Mister Tomer is currently unaccounted for. His quarters appear undisturbed, the door was locked when we arrived, and his commbadge was found on the deck inside. Security has been notified and is treating the situation as a missing person.”
As the channel closed, Riley exhaled slowly, the sound barely more than a sigh. She turned her head just enough to glance back toward the doorway again, offering Crescent a small, sharp nod—more a shared acknowledgement than an order—before letting her attention settle once more on the too-neat room around her.
The words helped. Gave the room edges again, turned the wrongness into something with procedure wrapped around it. Riley loosened her grip on the badge just enough to look down at it once more, then kept it curled in her hand, the cool metal a small, solid weight against her palm.
Whatever had happened to Mister Tomer, this was where it started making sense—or where it proved it really, really didn’t. Please let it be the first one, she thought.
== Tag Crescent ==
It wasn’t the cut-to-black of a power failure, or the sickly wash of emergency lighting—just that hollow, unoccupied kind of dark that made the room feel more like a stage set than quarters.
“Computer, lights to twenty percent.”
Soft illumination rolled out from the ceiling, pushing the shadows back without quite chasing them away. Starlight from the viewport bled in to meet it, sliding over tidy furniture and clean lines and making everything look a little unreal. Riley let the hatch frame brush her shoulder as she stepped over the threshold, giving herself one last anchor to the corridor before she let it go.
This was supposed to look lived in. It didn’t.
She’d expected… something. A jacket tossed over a chair. A padd face-down where someone had given up reading mid-sentence. A half-finished cup of tea playing coaster for a stack of datapads. Instead, every surface she could see from the doorway looked like it belonged in the ship’s glossy holo-tour—replicator alcove clean, seating aligned just-so, nothing out of place.
Except for the one thing that absolutely should have been.
Her gaze snagged on the glint in the middle of the living area. Riley shifted her weight, boots whispering over carpet as she moved far enough in to see it clearly. The shape was unmistakable, even in the dimmed light. She crouched, keeping her shoulders turned so she wasn’t blocking the doorway completely, and reached down.
The civilian commbadge was cool against her fingers.
That’s wrong, she thought, thumb brushing the smooth face of it as she straightened. You don’t leave this on the floor and go anywhere you’re supposed to be.
She didn’t like how quiet the room was. The air felt still, the way it did after a door had been sealed a while—not stale, not yet, just… undisturbed. The back of her neck prickled. For a heartbeat the doorway behind her wanted to shrink, the walls leaning in, memory and imagination trying to weld themselves together.
Focus, Wright. One thing at a time, she told herself, closing her hand around the badge until she could feel the edges.
She moved further in, slow and deliberate, letting her eyes sweep left and right. The seating area was spotless. The small desk stood neat, terminal dark. Through the open bedroom doorway she could see a perfectly made bed, not a crease out of place; in the bathroom, just the faint suggestion of gleam where fixtures caught the light. No discarded clothing, no used towel draped where someone had grabbed it in a hurry. No shadow of a person in any of it.
Too perfect. Like the room was waiting for its first actual occupant instead of one who’d already been aboard.
Riley drew a steadying breath and angled herself so she could still see a sliver of corridor past the edge of the hatch. Crescent was there—a solid presence at her back even if she couldn’t make out more than a shape and the idea of a phaser pointed away from her and toward whatever might come. Riley let her gaze flick back toward the other woman for a heartbeat, the tight set of her jaw and the shallow, controlled breath she took doing the talking for her; if Crescent caught the look, she’d know Riley didn’t think this was routine anymore.
“No sign of him,” she said, loud enough for Bailey and the open channel both. “Quarters are secure, look untouched. Civilian commbadge recovered inside.”
There it was—the line between probably overreacting and this goes in someone’s report. She didn’t hesitate.
“Wright to Security,” she said, letting the words fall into the quiet. “Be advised, Mister Tomer is unaccounted for. On arrival, his assigned quarters were secured with no sign of forced entry or obvious disturbance. His issued commbadge was located on the floor inside. Request initiation of missing person protocols and dispatch of additional personnel to my location.”
She waited half a beat, listening for any crackle of acknowledgement from her combadge, then continued.
“Wright to Captain Braggins. Ma’am, Mister Tomer is currently unaccounted for. His quarters appear undisturbed, the door was locked when we arrived, and his commbadge was found on the deck inside. Security has been notified and is treating the situation as a missing person.”
As the channel closed, Riley exhaled slowly, the sound barely more than a sigh. She turned her head just enough to glance back toward the doorway again, offering Crescent a small, sharp nod—more a shared acknowledgement than an order—before letting her attention settle once more on the too-neat room around her.
The words helped. Gave the room edges again, turned the wrongness into something with procedure wrapped around it. Riley loosened her grip on the badge just enough to look down at it once more, then kept it curled in her hand, the cool metal a small, solid weight against her palm.
Whatever had happened to Mister Tomer, this was where it started making sense—or where it proved it really, really didn’t. Please let it be the first one, she thought.
== Tag Crescent ==