Velora Prime – USS Khitomer

PART I — The Quiet Threshold

Orbit of Velora Prime

The USS Khitomer drifted through soft light, its hull tracing an amber line across the planet’s upper atmosphere. Below lay oceans that caught the sun like liquid glass. Along each coastline, resonance towers shimmered, bending color into spirals that seemed to breathe.

On the observation deck, diplomats, officers, and traders pressed to the glass. The ship’s usual vibration had changed—gentler, rhythmic, as though matching a pulse just beyond hearing.

CAPTAIN’S LOG — STARDATE 61244.3

“They call it the quiet threshold — the moment when two frequencies meet but don’t yet blend.

The Federation’s treaty with Velora Prime has held for six days. The markets sing, the delegates toast. By every measure, this is success.

And yet… the silence unnerves me. Crew disputes down. Sleep cycles aligned. Even the plants in hydroponics are blooming ahead of schedule. Harmony has never been so efficient.

But I can’t shake the thought that a perfect chord, if held too long, stops being music.”

He paused recording. The reflection of the red status light pulsed across the viewport, faint against the planet’s green glow. Far below, the resonance towers flared—brief flashes that rippled through the clouds in disciplined intervals.

“They say the lattice amplifies empathy,” he murmured, not dictating now but thinking aloud. “I wonder what happens when empathy turns into agreement.”

The hum deepened. He felt it in his ribs.

Medical Bay

Lieutenant Rhys sat on the edge of the diagnostic table, pressing her palms flat to keep them still.

“It isn’t motion sickness,” she said. “It’s like I’m being pulled into rhythm.”

Dr. Tarev checked the readout—pulse, respiration, equilibrium. All normal.

“You’ve been on three consecutive shifts,” he offered.

“Fatigue doesn’t make the floor breathe.”

The lights dimmed for half a heartbeat, brightened again.

He frowned. “No variance. The ship’s within parameters.”

“Of course it is,” she said, sliding off the table.

Walking out, she felt warmth under her boots—an echo of heartbeat through metal.

Corridor, Night Cycle

Most of the ship slept. Rhys slowed halfway to her quarters and laid a hand on the bulkhead. The hum was still there, soft, steady, tuned to her own breathing.

“Computer, run environmental diagnostics.”

“All systems within normal parameters.”

She exhaled. The tone shifted with her breath—responding, adjusting.

For a moment she felt it listening.

Then it stopped.

Only her pulse remained, loud and wrong.

WE&P by: EZorrillaMc&Co.