Subterfuge and Speculations

Posted on Mon Sep 21st, 2026 @ 4:08pm by Lieutenant Taras Mikovich & Commander Theya Zh'Líran

1,504 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: Outward Trajectory
Location: USS Eventide | Deck 06 | Mess Hall

Aboard the starship Eventide, the Mess Hall was busy enough to be lively without being overly crowded. The low hum of conversation mixed with the clatter of utensils and the occasional hiss of the food dispensers, creating the familiar background noise of a ship's crew at mealtime. It was enough noise not to feel alone, but quiet enough to get some intrapersonal communication in, self-thought.

Taras Mikovich had chosen a circular table tucked into one of the far corners. It was the perfect place to be alone in thought, and to scan the vicinity, make notations of who sat with whom, read lips, observe body language, and ultimately collect social intel.

He was alone. For now, just cradling a warm mug of sbiten between both hands, letting the heat seep into his fingers as he stared absently through the nearby viewport. The sweet, honeyed drink was a taste of home, though his thoughts were considerably less comforting.

The transmission was on his mind. It was a strange mystery of noise. Something about it bothered him, and that would cause him restless nights ahead.

The Eventide was following the signal toward a nebula notorious for its navigational hazards. Ships that ventured too deeply into it already had reported sensor failures, strange gravitational distortions, and communications difficulties. Some had emerged with structural damage. Others in the past several months had emerged with stories that were considerably harder to explain.

Taras wasn't convinced the transmission was simply benevolent, waiting to be answered or responded to, but he did feel it was deliberate in some fashion.

It felt like bait.

He had expressed his concerns earlier, expecting the usual skepticism that followed whenever he trusted instinct over hard evidence. Instead, Commander Tapper had genuinely entertained them, but it was Commander Theya Zh'Líran's body language that Taras really noticed. It was reaffirming in a way that transcended being receptive. She had listened. More importantly, she hadn't immediately dismissed him like some other people were doing non-verbally.

She had looked like someone who understood that caution wasn't the same thing as fear. Taras did not fear the unknown; he was just averse to hubris, ignorance, and pure stupidity. Bravado got people killed.

Taras took another sip of sbiten. Then the Mess Hall doors opened. He looked up to see who had walked in, and to his amusement, it was the Andorian commander who stepped inside.

A faint smile crossed Taras's face. He raised one hand and gave her a small wave, motioning toward the empty chair across from him. He gestured toward the seat at his table with a come join me burning ember in his eyes.

The Andorian was pleasantly surprised to see the young communications officer and recognized his invitation. The smile reached Theya's eyes even though the corners of her mouth only slightly moved. She considered it important to learn as much as she could about everyone on board the ship, but this one so far had shown the most promise of those she'd seen.

She waited until she was at his table before she greeted him. She hated calling out across a room, it drew unnecessary attention.

"Lieutenant Mikovich, a pleasure finding you here this evening." Theya did a quick scan of the room and it's occupants before continuing. "If you plan to be here a while, I'll help myself to a beverage and join you."

He nodded. "Yeah, I will be here a while. I'm here for them," Taras gestured outward to the room around them. "People-watching is one of my hobbies. You can learn a lot about people by observing them and their interactions, but you already know this. I would welcome the company."

"I'll be right back and you can fill me in on what you've learned thus far." Theya punctuated her comment with a wink, before backing away from the table with a half a step before making her way to the refreshments station. She never put her back to the room - not fully anyway. Her antennae wavering in slow, controlled movements to scan any blind spots.

She returned with a tall glass of of an Earth beverage - ice tea, though she did not take it with ice. Theya placed the glass carefully on the table glancing at their closest neighbors as she took her seat. "Tell me, Lieutenant. How are you feeling this evening?" It was a genuine question, Theya wasn't much for small talk.

He looked at her, his eyes locking onto her. "Commander, I can feel the static charge running through my body and raising their hair on my arm up. This whole mission has unsettled me. I've already listen to that transmission a dozen times now, and I cannot for the life of me shake the feeling that we're rushing into this nebula foolhardy as humans tend to be."

Theya leaned in, placing her elbow on the table she nodded to Taras. "Tell me more."

"Somethings just off, " he prefaced. "About the transmission. I keep thinking we're going to find the truth because its out there, but I'm worried what is out there with it."

"Oh, Humans can be more curious than their own cats. Rushing off and getting themselves killed. No offense to you, You seem to be thinking this through. Communications officers often hear more than the rest of the ship gives them credit for. You have an important role," she added this last part with a grave seriousness to her tone.

"And what did you think about what Dr. Dusczak said?" Theya asked. "I could give a preshava's ass about whether we call it a signal or a process. But he meant something by that. Was his disctinction meaningful? Is there something to it that adds or would take away from this concern if we give it too much credence?"

Taras scoffed. "I learned a long time ago not to get into a battle of semantics," he said shaking his head. "An aubergine and an eggplant taste the same as parmigiana" he added. Why? Because it was the same damn vegetable with two different names depending where on Earth you were raised.

Were there actual differences between a signa and a process, yes, but it did not matter. "Have you ever heard of Dyatlov Pass, Commander?"

Theya shook her head. "Enlighten me."

"It was an incident that occurred on Earth in the mid 1900s. Ten experienced students and graduates from the Ural Polytechnical Institute, led by a 23-year-old named Igor Dyatlov, set out on a trek. Not the star kind, the frigid temperature of Russian tundra kind."

Taras thought she could relate to good ice tale. He took a sip of his drink to wet his mouth. "One was wise enough to turn back. The other nine experienced hikers climbed into the northern Urals. They were young, capable, and confident enough to believe that being experienced meant being prepared for anything."

He shook his head "Their camp was found weeks later. The tent had been cut open from the inside. Their boots, coats, and supplies were still inside. Whatever frightened them out into that frozen night, they left most of their protection behind, bodies were nearly naked."

Taras looked at Theya directly as if to affirm she was following. "Searchers found bodies scattered about the area. The cause of death varied. Some had terrible injures as though they were attacked, but no beast, no killer, man nor monster was ever identified. Just nine very deceased adventurers."

"I believe we're walking toward something we don't understand because we can't stand the idea of leaving a mystery alone." He rotated his mug between his palms. "Maybe there's nothing waiting for us. Maybe it's a natural phenomenon. Maybe it's an invitation. But if we keep assuming the answer is worth whatever it costs to find, we're no better than those hikers."

Theya remained silent for several moments, her antennae angling slightly backward. She glanced toward the viewport, where the stars drifted past in silent, indifferent brilliance.

"That is quite the cautionary tale," she said at last. "Though I suspect you aren't telling it merely to entertain me."

Taras offered a faint, humorless smile. "No. The point is that experience can become its own kind of blindness. You survive enough dangerous situations, and eventually you start believing survival was proof you understood the danger."

Theya studied him over the rim of her glass. "And you believe we're making that mistake now?"

"I believe we're walking toward something we don't understand because we can't stand the idea of leaving a mystery alone."

He rotated his mug between his palms. "Maybe there's nothing waiting for us. Maybe it's a natural phenomenon. Maybe it's an invitation. But if we keep assuming the answer is worth whatever it costs to find, we're no better than those hikers."

Taras slowly lowered his mug. Theya's expression hardened, and unspoken understanding between the two of them.


A Post by

Commander Theya Zh'Líran
Mission Specialist

&

Lieutenant Taras Mikovich
Chief Communications Officer

 

RSS Feed