Yesterday, 02:43 PM
Crescent’s boots scuffed softly as she doubled back toward the hatch, peering around it for a heartbeat—then she slipped past Riley’s shoulder and moved into the quarters, tricorder already coming up in her hand. Riley shifted just enough to give her room, staying planted at the threshold instead of following. The corridor at her back still mattered. So did being the one person not inside the room if it decided to turn nasty.
The living area looked wrong in the low light—too neat, too untouched—and the civilian commbadge in Riley’s hand felt heavier by the second. Her own combadge chirped.
[I’m on my way.]
That wasn’t “received.” That was a warning shot.
Relief and dread twisted together in her chest. Relief, because the Chief was coming personally. Dread, because the tone meant this was already past “missing diplomatic advisor” and into something with teeth. She kept her breathing steady, eyes tracking Crescent’s slow sweep across the living area as the tricorder’s quiet chirr filled the silence. Riley didn’t touch anything else. Didn’t move farther in. She just listened—because if there was another sound in that room, she wanted to be the first to catch it.
This was supposed to be simple. Captain Braggins wanted me to escort Mister Tomer to the Bridge—knock, introduce myself, walk him up, done. Instead, Riley had a civilian commbadge in her hand and a locked room that didn’t look lived in. The stomp of approaching footsteps didn’t take long to arrive.
d’Tor’an hit the doorway like she’d been launched from the turbolift. Riley started to speak—just a breath, a “Chief—” forming—when the Chief’s voice cut through the space first. “Computer,” d’Tor’an snapped, already stepping in, “locate every Trill aboard this ship. Report their current positions.” Riley shut her mouth, instantly. Not because she’d been ordered to—because there wasn’t room for anything else. The Chief’s momentum filled the quarters the way smoke filled a corridor.
Let her drive. Don’t get underfoot.
Riley stayed at the hatch and simply lifted her hand, palm open, holding the civilian commbadge out where d’Tor’an could see it the moment she turned, but the Chief didn’t look—her attention was locked on the computer like she could drag answers out of it by force. “And locate any Trill not currently wearing a combadge,” d’Tor’an added, voice tightening. “Now.” Riley’s grip stayed steady even as her knuckles threatened to go white.
He either walked out without it… or he didn’t walk out at all.
Crescent continued her scan deeper in the room, methodical and quiet, keeping her movements contained and careful. The tricorder’s chirp was the only thing in the quarters that sounded normal. Riley kept her eyes moving—hatch, corridor, Crescent’s position, the bedroom doorway—without letting any one point hold her too long. She didn’t try to interpret what the computer was saying. She didn’t try to step into the Chief’s lane.
When there was the slightest opening—just enough space between readouts and the next sharp command—Riley spoke, low and careful. “Chief,” she said, and raised the commbadge a fraction higher. “This was inside the quarters.” She didn’t push it forward yet, not while d’Tor’an’s focus was still on the computer. She held it where it could be seen—something real in a situation that was rapidly turning into names, locations, and gaps. “If he left in a hurry, leaving it behind doesn’t make sense,” Riley added, keeping her voice tight and controlled. “If it’s here, it feels deliberate… or it means he didn’t have a choice.”
Riley’s eyes flicked to the pristine surfaces again—desk, chair, undisturbed bedding—and then back to the corridor, the habit of watching her six refusing to turn off just because they were inside a ship. “I was sent to escort Mister Tomer to the Bridge,” she said, quieter, the words still not quite fitting the reality of the room. “He didn’t answer chimes. And this place doesn’t look like someone’s been spending time in it.”
Facts. Concerns. Then wait.
Riley held position at the hatch, braced and ready to move the second the Chief pointed—ready to keep the corridor clear, ready to run for Security, ready to do whatever came next once the computer finished telling them what it could.
== Tags to d’Tor’an & Crescent ==
The living area looked wrong in the low light—too neat, too untouched—and the civilian commbadge in Riley’s hand felt heavier by the second. Her own combadge chirped.
[I’m on my way.]
That wasn’t “received.” That was a warning shot.
Relief and dread twisted together in her chest. Relief, because the Chief was coming personally. Dread, because the tone meant this was already past “missing diplomatic advisor” and into something with teeth. She kept her breathing steady, eyes tracking Crescent’s slow sweep across the living area as the tricorder’s quiet chirr filled the silence. Riley didn’t touch anything else. Didn’t move farther in. She just listened—because if there was another sound in that room, she wanted to be the first to catch it.
This was supposed to be simple. Captain Braggins wanted me to escort Mister Tomer to the Bridge—knock, introduce myself, walk him up, done. Instead, Riley had a civilian commbadge in her hand and a locked room that didn’t look lived in. The stomp of approaching footsteps didn’t take long to arrive.
d’Tor’an hit the doorway like she’d been launched from the turbolift. Riley started to speak—just a breath, a “Chief—” forming—when the Chief’s voice cut through the space first. “Computer,” d’Tor’an snapped, already stepping in, “locate every Trill aboard this ship. Report their current positions.” Riley shut her mouth, instantly. Not because she’d been ordered to—because there wasn’t room for anything else. The Chief’s momentum filled the quarters the way smoke filled a corridor.
Let her drive. Don’t get underfoot.
Riley stayed at the hatch and simply lifted her hand, palm open, holding the civilian commbadge out where d’Tor’an could see it the moment she turned, but the Chief didn’t look—her attention was locked on the computer like she could drag answers out of it by force. “And locate any Trill not currently wearing a combadge,” d’Tor’an added, voice tightening. “Now.” Riley’s grip stayed steady even as her knuckles threatened to go white.
He either walked out without it… or he didn’t walk out at all.
Crescent continued her scan deeper in the room, methodical and quiet, keeping her movements contained and careful. The tricorder’s chirp was the only thing in the quarters that sounded normal. Riley kept her eyes moving—hatch, corridor, Crescent’s position, the bedroom doorway—without letting any one point hold her too long. She didn’t try to interpret what the computer was saying. She didn’t try to step into the Chief’s lane.
When there was the slightest opening—just enough space between readouts and the next sharp command—Riley spoke, low and careful. “Chief,” she said, and raised the commbadge a fraction higher. “This was inside the quarters.” She didn’t push it forward yet, not while d’Tor’an’s focus was still on the computer. She held it where it could be seen—something real in a situation that was rapidly turning into names, locations, and gaps. “If he left in a hurry, leaving it behind doesn’t make sense,” Riley added, keeping her voice tight and controlled. “If it’s here, it feels deliberate… or it means he didn’t have a choice.”
Riley’s eyes flicked to the pristine surfaces again—desk, chair, undisturbed bedding—and then back to the corridor, the habit of watching her six refusing to turn off just because they were inside a ship. “I was sent to escort Mister Tomer to the Bridge,” she said, quieter, the words still not quite fitting the reality of the room. “He didn’t answer chimes. And this place doesn’t look like someone’s been spending time in it.”
Facts. Concerns. Then wait.
Riley held position at the hatch, braced and ready to move the second the Chief pointed—ready to keep the corridor clear, ready to run for Security, ready to do whatever came next once the computer finished telling them what it could.
== Tags to d’Tor’an & Crescent ==