Are 'Friends' Electric?

Posted on Mon May 25th, 2026 @ 2:19pm by Rear Admiral Zseeq & Lieutenant JG Chase Thompson & Ensign Roju & Ensign Seaira Chambers & Ensign Fa Blemni & Lieutenant Commander Lin Yue & Lieutenant Commander Eve Hall & Lieutenant Commander Melanie D'BrooNi- Haistro & Lieutenant Ralen Thira & Lieutenant Zhi'rev

2,971 words; about a 15 minute read

Mission: Parasite
Location: U.S.S. Saratoga
Timeline: 2401-07-24, 18:00

Captain Zseeq sat at his desk, the cabin lights dimmed and the temperature lowered to a cool degree that did little to soothe the tension behind his eyes. He wasn't looking at the morning’s starcharts or the endless stream of tactical briefings; instead, his gaze was fixed on four personnel files hovering in space above his desk: Maran, D’Brooni-Haistro, Zhi’rev, and Roju. He tapped a command to record his personal log, his voice dropping into the gravelly tone of a man who hadn't slept more than four hours a night since Biranu Station.

"Captain’s Log, Stardate 78560.9," he began, the words feeling heavy in his throat. "It has been three weeks since the incident at Biranu Station. We are maintaining our patrol of the sector, but the air on the Saratoga has grown thin. Officially, we are a ship of over five hundred souls, but lately, I find myself counting shadows instead of people."

His hand hovered over the holographic file for Lieutenant Maran, staring at the medical readout he had personally verified a thousand times. The four crewmembers they lost had been missing for only fourteen days, and when they returned, they were perfect. Their memories, their speech patterns, even their idiosyncratic gestures were exactly as he remembered them, but the scans showed that 0.2% variance, a biological sneeze that Zseeq saw as a chasm.

"I’ve ordered secondary deep-space scans," Zseeq continued, his voice barely a whisper. "I cannot stop looking for the trail of whatever hollowed out my crew."

When he finally stepped onto the Bridge, the usual shift of energy felt entirely normal, which was the true horror. He took his chair, his hands gripping the leather armrests as he felt a phantom itch at the back of his neck. He looked toward the Helm, where Ensign Seaira Chambers sat. The Flight Control Officer was the picture of tactical focus, her photographic memory likely already cataloging every fluctuation on the long-range scanners.

"Report, Ensign Chambers," Zseeq said, keeping his voice steady.

Chambers didn't hesitate, her response sharp and professional. "Patrol path remains clear, Captain. Sector 4-2-9 is quiet. Navigational markers are locked, and I am maintaining a steady warp four."

Zseeq nodded, then glanced toward the Engineering station to the side of the Bridge, where Ensign Roju was hunched over a secondary diagnostic panel. The Vorgon was tensing his shoulders, his fingers moving with a delicate grace over the relays. Zseeq knew Roju’s preoccupied nature; the Ensign was likely more interested in the efficiency of the warp field than the mission at hand.

"Ensign Roju, status of the secondary scans?" Zseeq asked.

Roju jumped slightly, turning a cautious, slightly pessimistic gaze toward the Captain. "The sensors are... functioning, but I’ve been tinkering with the lateral sensor array's coupling. There was a three-millisecond lag. It might cause a localized feedback loop if we push it too hard. I’m not sure we should be scanning this aggressively in an uncharted sector. It feels... exposed."

"Keep at it, Ensign," Zseeq said, shifting his gaze to the Science station. Ensign Fa Blemni, the Napean officer, was already adjusting the gain on a faint notification. Unlike Roju, Fa showed no hesitation; she tapped into the primary array with dependable speed.

"Captain," Fa Blemni reported, her voice calm. "I am picking up a long-range subspace echo. Pulse-code modulation. Very faint, and heavily degraded."

"Is it a match for the Biranu signature?" Zseeq asked, leaning forward, his heart skipping a beat.

"Initial analysis says no, Captain," Blemni responded, her brow furrowing as she filtered the noise. "It’s on an archaic emergency frequency; one that hasn't been standard for decades. I can't get a clean registry match yet, but the encryption style dates back to the late 2360s, perhaps early 2370s."

Zseeq felt a jolt of curiosity that momentarily cut through his paranoia, "That would potentially pre-date the Dominion War."

As the Bridge crew began trying to triangulate the source, Zseeq felt the presence of Lieutenant Chase Thompson at the Tactical station. Thompson moved with the coiled energy of a predator, his eyes scanning the viewscreen with the practiced ease of a master marksman.

"The signal is originating from the fourth planet in the system ahead, Captain," Thompson added, his tone carrying the perfect amount of professional caution. "It’s an automated loop, but there’s a manual override signature embedded in the header. If it's a wreck, someone went to great lengths to make sure the signal survived."

Zseeq looked around his Bridge, the irony tasting like copper in his mouth. He was searching for four people who were "dead" but standing right in front of him, and now the universe had handed him a ghost from the past that refused to stay buried. He tapped his badge, the chime echoing through the silent deck. "Senior staff, report to the Bridge," Zseeq commanded, his voice firm. He looked back to the helm. "Adjust course, Ensign Chambers. Warp six."

Dinner had just been finished and it was time to get the children to bed. Mneiha insisted on getting herself dressed for bed but would need help brushing her teeth and getting tucked in. Saeihr was another matter, she was still too young to do anything by herself. Still, the two patient fathers took their time with each of the girls before finally settling down on the couch.

Zhi drew his husband into his arms and held him close, knowing how rough the last weeks has been on him. "Maybe you should take tomorrow off, and do something for yourself," he suggested quietly, "without the girls or me. Book the holodeck and have some fun."

"And do what?" Sethan turned his head to look up at his husband, enjoying his proximity and the safety his strong arms provided. "I'd rather spend time with you and the girls. Besides, Melanie needs me in sickbay." The younger man frowned, still troubled by the fact that the captain had called him their anchor. Before Zhi could answered, the call for senior staff came through. "Go... I'll stay here."

Zhi nodded and reluctantly rose from the couch. "Hopefully this doesn't take long," he muttered, grabbing his uniform jacket on the way out. When he got to the bridge, he announced his presence and relieved the officer at his station. "What's going on?" He asked, clearly unhappy at being called away from his family.

Zseeq turned his head slowly as the lift doors hissed open, his cold, piercing blue eyes locking onto Zhi’rev the moment the Science Officer stepped onto the Bridge. He didn't offer a welcoming nod; his gaze simply tracked the man with a clinical, unblinking focus that took in the subtle stiffness of his shoulders—the quiet resentment of a man pulled away from his home.

To Zseeq, the perfection of Zhi’rev's posture was just another part of the masquerade. Another shadow on his deck.

"We are dropping out of warp in precisely two minutes, Lieutenant," Zseeq said, his baritone voice dropping into a low, dangerous vibrato that cut straight through the hum of the Bridge. He didn't wait for Zhi'rev to fully settle at his console. "Ensign Blemni has intercepted a heavily degraded subspace echo from the fourth planet ahead. The encryption matches an archaic Starfleet standard from the late 2360s, carrying a manual override embedded in an automated loop."

The Captain stepped away from the command chair, his boots making no sound against the deck as he moved with a slow, predator's grace to stand just behind the Science station. He clasped his hands behind his back, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the controls.

"The rest of the senior staff are on their way," Zseeq added, his eyes narrowing as he watched the monitor over Zhi'rev's shoulder. "Take your station, Lieutenant, and begin triangulating the signal's origin. I want the sensor grid fully calibrated before the others arrive. Let us see what kind of ghost has decided to call us out of the dark."

Mel was finishing up dinner with Charlie. Her daughter still refusing to spill on the new "Boyfriend". She was more uncomfortable talking about that its seemed than the fact her mother had been changed to some sort of synthetic being.

"You need to embrace it for as long as it lasts mum. You look amazing and can eat what you want," Charlie informed her.

"I'd rather have my body back. The Captain doesn't fully trust us. Everyone's spooked out and what about D'BrooNi. I'm the guardian and this is ... they are replaced too. I failed as guardian," the Trill stated. She did however intend to finish the tiramisu. Charlie was right about one thing, might as well enjoy some parts of it if the situation was continuing to be forced on them.

"Senior staff, report to the bridge," the message came through loudly. Mel put her spoon down.

"Guess that's mine now," the young brunette made a grab for her bowl. "What do you think ..."

"Who knows. Don't eat too much honey and ...." she said as she reached the door, "No bringing boys back."

She say her glare and start to formulate a come back but was out of there with a sense of amusement before she could. Reaching the turbo lift, "Bridge was all she said."

Having worked what amounted to a triple shift over the previous few days, Eve had finally been granted some downtime before returning to duty the following morning. She’d returned to her quarters, tossed her uniform into the recycler, taken a quick sonic shower, and changed into her usual off-duty combination: black jeans, a tank-style tee, and a worn black bomber jacket. From there, she’d headed straight for the ship’s lounge.

For the past three hours, she’d occupied a quiet nook beside a holographic fireplace, sipping whiskey while reading a copy of GoldenEye by Ian Fleming. Spy novels were not usually her thing—especially those from Earth’s mid-twentieth century—but she found the book oddly compelling. Beyond the action and melodrama, it offered glimpses into the political anxieties of the era. One lesson her history teacher back in Ireland had drilled into her as a child still lingered in her mind: never trust the narrator. They were often unreliable. Hall often doubted how accurate these sorts of stories were.

She grimaced at a particularly gruesome scene, one clearly designed to raise the stakes as the novel hurtled toward its climax. Shaking her head in disgust, she turned the page anyway, already too engrossed to stop.

The sharp chirp of her communicator snapped her back to reality. She’d deliberately clipped it to the collar of her shirt beneath the open left side of her jacket, hoping not to be disturbed unless absolutely necessary.

A moment later, the stern voice of the ship’s commanding officer came through.

“Senior staff, report to the bridge.”

Eve exhaled heavily. So much for a quiet evening before her next shift.

The redhead slid out of her comfortable hideaway, closing the book with one hand while draining the last of her whiskey with the other. As she headed for the exit and the inevitable summons awaiting her on the bridge, she felt the alcohol catch up with her in a slight wobble of her step.

Moving through the corridors of Deck 16, the ship’s executive officer quickly composed herself. She pulled her long strawberry-blonde hair back into a tight ponytail, tucked in her tank top, and zipped her jacket halfway up. Moments later, she stepped into a turbolift and ordered it directly to the bridge. The lift shot upward through the bowels of the Saratoga without interruption.

When the doors parted, Eve immediately crossed to the bridge replicator.

“One alcohol inhibitor,” she said quietly.

A pinkish-red pill and a glass of water materialised almost instantly. She swallowed the tablet dry, chased it with the water, then returned the empty glass to the replicator before turning her attention to the bridge crew.

Crossing to the captain’s side, she straightened slightly.

“Situation report, sir?”

Zseeq turned his head toward the sound of the lift doors, his piercing blue eyes tracking the arrivals with silent, clinical precision.

He didn't miss a single variable. He registered Chief Medical Officer D'Brooni-Haistro as she stepped onto the deck, his internal clock marking her perfect alignment, her flawless movements—the living manifestation of that haunting 0.2% variance. Then his gaze slid seamlessly to his Executive Officer. He noted the off-duty bomber jacket, the tightly pulled-back hair, and the distinct, quick stop Eve Hall made at the bridge replicator to down an alcohol inhibitor.

His expression remained completely still, a sophisticated, unreadable mask. He didn't offer a lecture on decorum; instead, a faint, "warm yet cold" manipulative smile touched his lips as she took her place at his side.

"We are dropping out of warp in under ninety seconds, Commander," Zseeq said, his baritone dropping into a low, dangerous vibrato. "Ensign Blemni has intercepted a faint, heavily degraded subspace echo from the fourth planet in the system ahead. The encryption dates back to the late 2360s, carrying an archaic manual override signature embedded directly into the header."

He turned back toward the main viewscreen, his hands clasped firmly behind his back as his tailored uniform caught the dim, moody amber glow of the yellow alert.

"Ops is currently scouring the archives for any Starfleet or transport vessels reported missing in this region during that window," Zseeq continued, his tone carrying an unyielding, corporate chill. He cast a brief, deliberate sidelong glance at Eve, his voice dropping to a low thrum. "An automated loop that someone went to extraordinary lengths to ensure would survive for four decades. A highly calculated narrative left drifting in the dark, waiting for a ship like ours to pass by."

He paused, letting the heavy silence of the Bridge settle over the senior staff as the warp lines on the viewscreen began to fracture and slow.

"Take your place, Commander. Let us see if this fourth planet is a genuine cry for help... or if we are simply being invited to another masquerade."

The lighting in the cabin was still dark, only the coloured accent lighting that seemed to be all the rage since the mid 2360's on Starfleet vessels cast any light in the room, its golden hue warming. Lin had been on board a few days, not yet having been able to start duty as the Chief Operations Officer, or even meet anyone on board other than the Doctor. Tomorrow would have been the day she started duty formally but the command to report to the bridge had come through, breaking her nap and she assumed the Captain would like to see her present also.

She kicked the sheets away, not really wanting to rise from bed as it was comfortable and warm and had that cozy feeling given this had been an unexpected afternoon nap. All that was missing was the window from her home in Kyoto. Kiyomizu-dera temple in the distance, Kyoto tower peeking up above the more modern portions of the city... She missed it dearly but so far Saratoga seemed to be evoking those similar feelings of comfort and familiarity that she had been in need of since her last assignment.

She rotated her shoulder, the one that had been injured but was now feeling much improved after Doctor D'BrooNi's ministrations.

She cast her legs over the end of the bed and started to rise, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she commanded "lights half illumination". Her intention was to dress and report to the bridge directly and moments later, her hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, zipping up the black and yellow gold tunic she was out through the door and waiting for the turbolift.

The Saratoga had a way of humming that never fully left you alone.

Even at its quietest, even at “night” when the lights were dimmed to a softer, almost respectful glow, the ship still breathed—power conduits thrumming like distant blood in a vast metallic body. It was the kind of sound you could either learn to ignore… or learn to rely on.

Lieutenant Ralen was trying very hard to do neither.

Her quarters were sparsely arranged in a way that suggested discipline more than comfort. Nothing unnecessary. Nothing sentimental on display. The bed was made with precise corners, the desk clear except for a PADD turned face-down, as if even information needed permission to exist here.

She sat cross-legged on the floor instead.

Bare metal interrupted only by a thin meditation mat. Hands resting loosely on her knees. Spine aligned with practiced control. Eyes closed.

Breathing.

In through the nose. Hold. Out through the mouth.

Again.

And again.

It was not Vulcan technique. Not quite. Not the pure discipline of emotional suppression or the strict architecture of logic.

It was something adapted. Curated. Built over years of trying to stay steady in environments that had no interest in stability.

The Saratoga had only been her posting for a short time, but already it had begun to press against her composure in ways she did not appreciate. New crew. New expectations. New silences that felt heavier than noise.

And beneath all of it—the assignment. That was the part she had not yet fully settled in her mind. A soft chime interrupted the rhythm of her breath.

Ralen did not open her eyes immediately. The chime came again. More insistent this time. Patient, but not willing to be ignored forever. She exhaled slowly through her nose.

“Enter,” she said.

The door slid open with a quiet hiss.

Bootsteps followed.

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