[Snip]

At the captain’s order Stella got every frequency that she could imagine up and running. Straightening in her chair she set her message to record as she spoke. Her soft nonaggressive voice went out across the darkness. ” Hello unknown vessel this is the federation vessel USS Merrimac on a voyage of peaceful discovery. Please identify yourself. I say again please identify yourselves. ” Stella record off and the pressed send. There the message was going off in all directions now. She had little hope that it would get very far with all the background static, but they could try. She had set the message to repeat every fifteen minutes. She turned toward the captain and said softly. ” Message sent and is repeating sir.”

“Thank you, Lt! Keep monitoring for their replying hails.” replied the Captain to his Comms officer.

“Lt. M’Mera, could you estimate the strain that climbing up to the top of the wave might place upon the Merrimack’s pure Titanium hull with Rodinium armor plating? I believe we have full shield strength, even if we were in for a bumpy or mushy surf!” Glen asked the CE.

M’Mera’s claws moved lightly across the Engineering console, tail swaying once as the distortion gradients scrolled past.

“Captain, if we align ourrr warp field with the rrrising grrra-dient, we can ride it rrrather than fight it.”

She brought up the structural overlay.

“Current SIF load is eighty-one perrrcent. Riding the wave will spike it to approximately one-hundred-five perrrcent forrr less than a minute. Strrrress will localize along the dorsal spine—frames forrrty-seven through ssssixty-one. There will be hull flexion.”

A faint tremor rippled through the deck.

“Inertial dampeners can manage the verrrtical shearr. I rrrecommmend no more than a twelve-degrrree field pitch over ninety secondsss. Any steeper, and the SIF will be overtaxed.”

Her ears angled slightly forward.

“The Merrimack can tolerrrate the maneuver within thossse limits. If SIF load exceedsss one-hundred-ten perrrcent, I will call forrr immediate realignment.”

A steady look toward the command chair.

“She will hold, Captain… if we rrride the wave carefully.”

“It’s a dangerous business, Rana, going out into this Expanse at all, but if we step up onto this gravity wave, and if we don’t keep our feet, there’s no knowing where we might be swept off. However, the Merrimack has faced danger many times before. Most likely, nothing as bad as we have feared will ever occur, not because we are lucky but because we were very unlucky in the past.”

Zavey gladly began running scans to see if defining the object ahead more definitely was possible. (GM?) Numbers began printing across her screen as to the distance and density of the object, but it still hadn’t been identified absolutely. Could it be a ship of the Shiarians? That was the only thing that made her stomach tighten out of all the possibilities.

Rana stood apparently calm and waiting for any results of Lieutenant Zavey’s to arrive. He was not however as calm as he might appear. He’d always had a problem of just being still when his mind thought that there were other things that he could be doing. Mostly he was going over and over in his mind the shapes of the gravity waves and the strength. And then there was the question of why whatever they were trying to get a look at had chosen this particular spot to move through. Then of course the big question. What sort of thing might call this place home? Or be so comfortable here?

The numbers did not settle.

Lieutenant Zavey’s initial scan returned conflicting density values—first reading the object ahead as diffuse particulate matter, then recalculating it as something far more cohesive. Distance locked at 0.42 AU along the mapped corridor, embedded within the rising gravitational gradient the Merrimack was preparing to climb.

She narrowed the sensor bandwidth.

Mass estimate fluctuated between 2.8 and 4.1 million metric tons—too large for natural debris clumping at that velocity, too compact for a simple ionization pocket. The object was elongated along the corridor’s axis, partially obscured by layered subspace interference.

She shifted to multi-spectrum analysis.
• EM emissions: Minimal. No active transmissions detected.
• Thermal signature: Residual heat pockets—faint, irregular, cooling.
• Ionization profile: Structured plasma scoring embedded in the surrounding boundary layer.
• Subspace distortion: A localized compression field consistent with prior warp passage… but denser near the core of the object.

A tighter scan penetrated the interference for less than half a second before scattering.

In that fragment of clarity, the sensor return sharpened.

Angular geometry.

Not random.

Zavey’s console flagged repeating hull-density intervals—metallic composite ratios inconsistent with asteroid material. There were void spaces within the mass, arranged in a pattern too symmetrical for nature.

Then the distortion surged again, smearing the image into static.

Distance updated: closing.

A new data string appeared at the bottom of her screen—trace isotopic residues within the surrounding plasma. Tritium decay products. Elevated antiproton scarring along the subspace wake.

The readings matched a propulsion event. Not current. Not stable. But deliberate.

Another brief window of clarity—

A silhouette impression only: forward tapering mass, lateral protrusions, then gone.

No active power spike.

No weapons signature.

No transponder.

Just the shape, half-caught in a tightening gravitational fold.

The mapped corridor carried directly toward it.

Glen was aware that their time riding the channel defined by drifting flotsam and decaying isotopic markers was running out. Even Helm’s constant micro-corrections, easing the ship along the least turbulent gradients was not sufficient as the corridor closed down. He had to make the decision quickly - turn back and attempt a different entry point and another corridor or ride the wave with all the associated hazards. The decision he would make, as always, touched every one of 375 lives in his hands.

Glen told them, “Let’s go in! Helm! Follow the object down the mapped corridor and gently climb the wave as discussed. Liaise with Engineering and Science. Don’t allow the stress on the hull to exceed 110% but not too slow that we lose sight of that thing, because I believe that somehow it is responsible for this corridor being present here at all.”

Rana stood as still as a statue and tried so hard not to say anything that it would have been nearly impossible to tell he was breathing. He knew the decision he wanted to see made but he also knew he could be rash even when he was trying to be cautious. He had been watching the data coming in and he had seen that there were more things going on than just describing the thing ahead of them as a simple wave. It looked to be working in the same fashion, but they would have to duck and dodge and change speeds all along through it. But at this point after seeing many of the crew at work and had gained a respect and trust in them. Then as the captain began to give orders Rana smiled. It was the order he had been wanting to see the captain make. But as a first officer it was his job to offer his captain an alternate decision to something that many might not seem sound. Those people were never in the command seat at the time, however.

After the captain had finished giving out his orders, Rana who had been there as still as stone let a smile creep slowly across his face and out of the corner of his mouth and so that others would have a hard time hearing he said simply. ” You smashed it sir! Simply smashed it! “

Zavey took a deep breath and then reported. “Sir, it is probably a ship but there are no power spikes, no weapons signatures, and no transponder. That means it’s cruising the waves and probably hasn’t seen us yet because our weapons aren’t powered up. As far as identifying it, without a transponder, it isn’t Federation or any other known species.” She wasn’t positive it was a ship, but all signs were pointing to that conclusion.

The Merrimack had just begun her climb.

Helm angled the warp field into the rising gradient, the bow lifting as the ship rode the tightening corridor. The deck vibrated underfoot—an uneasy, resonant hum that traveled up through bone and teeth as structural fields strained to distribute the load.

“Wave alignment holding—” Ops began.

The Expanse answered first.

From the crest of the channel—where gravitational layers folded over one another like a breaking sea—a compressed lance of light tore free.

No full charge warning. No prolonged lock.

Just rupture.

“Impact—!”

The shot struck starboard-forward at a shallow angle. Though only half strength, the surrounding gradient amplified it, the blast riding the same subspace shear the Merrimack was climbing.

The bridge lurched violently to port.

Officers were thrown sideways in their seats; unsecured PADDs skidded across consoles. One science tech hit the deck hard as gravity fluctuated, the inertial dampeners scrambling to compensate. The overhead lights dimmed and flared in rapid succession.

A deep metallic groan rolled through the hull—felt more than heard—as the dorsal spine flexed under combined torsion and impact. The sound vibrated in the chest like distant thunder trapped inside steel.

Ops: “Forward shields at sixty-three percent! Starboard quadrant fifty-eight and dropping—bleed-through minimal!”

Sparks showered briefly from a starboard bridge console before emergency cutoffs snapped it dark. The sharp scent of overheated circuitry bit into the air.

Engineering: “SSIF sspike to one-hundred-nine perrcent!” The deck bucked again, less violently this time but sustained—an oscillation that made standing difficult. “SStarboard field coil rregistering harrrmonic feedback!” M’Mera growled out above the noise.

On the main viewer, the crest of the channel shimmered violently—distortion layers peeling back for the barest heartbeat.

[O]Bridge, this is Main Engineering. We’ve contained the manifold shift and rerouted the starboard field coil through secondary regulation. EPS grid on decks nine through eleven took overload damage, but it’s isolated.[O]

Within that heartbeat: a darker shape nested in the fold. Angular. Waiting.

M’Mera hung onto her console as she listened to the younger Engineer’s report. Her tail was even wrapped around the deck strut.

Then the fold snapped closed.

Across the ship, crew felt the aftershock in different ways—ears popping from rapid pressure shifts, stomachs dropping as inertial compensation lagged by fractions of a second. A faint tremor continued to run through the superstructure, like a plucked string slowly settling.

Residual plasma from the strike crawled across the forward shields in branching arcs before dissipating into the Expanse.

No immediate follow-up shot.

But the firing vector was clear—above them, on the crest they were attempting to seize.

The channel ahead tightened further, gravitational layers compressing into a funnel of turbulent distortion.

The Merrimack remained in the climb.

And now, under fire.

[O]We’re stable for the moment. But if we take another hit while riding this gradient, the starboard coil won’t absorb the next feedback spike as cleanly.[C]

[O] M’Merra herre Engineerring! Excellent worrk, Enssign T’Rralen! Underrsstood and hold thingss togetherr down therre! Any injurrred?[O]

[O] Aye Ma’am! Yes, 3 injured and sent to sickbay. None critical.[C]

[O] Undersstood, good job. Brridge out[C]

Rana had in the moment of all the excitement been caught totally unaware. One moment he was stable and the next he was flung across the bridge. For the most part it would seem when it stopped on his left knee cap. He bumped his head on the underside of Lt. Gagnons comms panel. When he finally recovered, he apologized to the Lieutenant and slowly got to his feet. Looking down at his sore knee he noticed that his recently purchased uniform had a tear in the knee. ” Well, drat.!” he cursed as he looked around the bridge. ” Is everyone well?” he asked to anyone who would answer.

“I am well, ssirr. Though thiss companel iss a bit worrsse forr wearr.” M’Mera growled. “That wass a weaponss hit!”

From the nature of the jolt, Captain Glen had been thrown upwards and out of his chair. He picked himself up off the floor and sat down again. “Only my self-esteem is injured!” Glen told him.

“If that was a weapons hit,” Glen replied to M’Mera, “it was unlike any weapon that I’ve seen before!”

“Can I have status reports and casualties, and I assume that those repair teams organised earlier and now swinging into action too?” Glen asked.

As Rana stood and bent over cleaning up the knee of his uniform slacks and mourning the tear, the words from Lt. M’mera finally went from background noise to speech with meaning and fell into his consciousness as if the ship itself had fallen on him. He straightened up then and asked M’mera with a confused look. ” Lieutenant. did you just say that was a weapons hit?”

“Rrepairr crrewss arre on it. And yesss, Commanderr that wass a weaponss hit. If unknown ssignaturre. I am asssuming it’ss the Sshiarian’ss. I am trrying to fine tune sscanning, Sscience, can you help on that end?”

Zavey was actually thrown against her wrap around console and almost lost her seating. Pulling herself back into a more correct position, her left hand clamped against a place where her ribs had come into hard contact with the metal. That would probably need to be looked at later, she thought. Also, in some freak accident, her own fingernails had left open scratches under one eye. She could feel the burn of a deep scrape, but didn’t know exactly what had happened.

“I’m registering and readjusting sensor information now, Lt M’Mera.”

Lieutenant Elyss Zavey
Chief Science Officer USS Merrimack

As the bridge hummed with activity and the lights flickered and flashed, the atmosphere tightened with anticipation. Glen’s voice cut through the commotion, firm and decisive: “Helm, Standard Manoeuvre Pattern Glen Beta!”

“Take us to Red Alert!” Glen ordered, his eyes scanning the tense faces around him. “Someone inform Cross that wounded are incoming!” he added as the sirens blared.

“We won’t return fire yet until we have no other choice,” Glen said. “I’ll not have another fiasco like that with the Ocean’s Bluff, the Bolay ship, again when dealing with First Contact with the Shiarians, but we certainly must defend ourselves if necessary. Keep trying to hail them on all frequencies!”

“Another thought on this weapon and its dark geometry,” Glen added. “if they manipulate gravity waves and use dark energies to alter the conformal mode of spacetime to move their ships, and if they also use it as a weapon, then it is very likely that spacetime manipulation underpins their entire suite of technological systems. It might be the very reason why this entire region of space is shattered in the way that it is??”

Rana was on his way to the nearest station to hail the sickbay when the words from the captain sunk in. He turned to him and asked. ” Captain think about what you are saying! If they can control spacetime with so little effort that they barely leave a trace behind. Would any of our weapons even have any effect if fired? The consequences of coming up against such an enemy is enormous!”

As The captain was speaking and the new Number one was talking about something Stella was working with everything, she could think of in her bag of tricks as she endeavored to contact the alien ship. Finally with only one thing she could think of to do she reported it to the captain. ” Captain? I’ve turned up our gain on all channels and taken up more space on the dish. In effect I’ve reduced the outgoing messages to a nearly straight line being shot in the direction of that alien ship. If we’re tracking, it right and they have anything like ears they should hear it.”

The USS Merrimack seemed to shudder in anticipation before the next impact ever came.

Red Alert klaxons wailed through the corridors, their pulsing crimson glow washing across the bridge in rhythmic flashes. Consoles flickered as unseen forces rippled through the local fabric of space, not as a conventional shockwave—but as a distortion. Stars beyond the viewscreen bent subtly, as though the universe itself were breathing in shallow, uneven gasps.

“Standard Manoeuvre Pattern Glen Beta” executed cleanly—helm thrusters firing in staggered bursts. The ship dipped and rolled along a vector designed not merely to evade, but to slip through the eddies of gravitational shear that were forming around them. The Merrimack did not dodge a projectile.

She dodged curvature.

Long-range sensors struggled to stabilize. The alien vessel—Shiarian in origin by preliminary analysis—remained an enigma. It did not radiate power in any traditional spectrum. Instead, it existed like a knot in spacetime, a region where geometry folded inward on itself. Its silhouette shimmered in and out of coherence, edges defined not by hull plating but by gravitational lensing.

Then it moved.

Not with impulse flare. Not with warp bloom.

The stars around it refracted—and it was elsewhere.

A violent tremor rippled across Decks Four through Seven as a surge of tidal force grazed the Merrimack’s port side. Structural integrity fields spiked to compensate. EPS relays overloaded in two secondary junctions. Reports from Engineering confirmed plasma backflow injuries; Sickbay began triage protocols as stretchers were mobilized.

“Ssirr! No idea what that wass! But sshe packss a punch! We’rre barrely holding togetherr! EPSs relayss going off all overr the sship!”

M’Mera barked out, her fur standing on end and her tail lashed back and forth. Testament to her anger, agitation and fear.

But no phaser beam had struck them.

No torpedo detonated.

The attack—if it was one—had been a manipulation. A localized alteration in the conformal structure of spacetime itself. A wrinkle forced outward like a snapped bedsheet.

On the viewscreen, the surrounding region told a silent story. The stars were not where they should have been. Entire constellations appeared fractured, their light split and smeared by lingering gravitational harmonics. The “shattered” quality of this expanse of space was no metaphor. It was scar tissue—evidence of repeated, controlled distortions.

The Captain’s hypothesis found grim validation in the sensor data.

Every system the Shiarian vessel employed appeared to rely on the same principle: controlled spacetime curvature. Propulsion. Defensive dispersion. Weaponization. Even their sensor signature—or lack thereof—suggested they rode the folds of reality rather than broadcasting through it.

Commander Rana’s concern proved equally valid. Tactical simulations ran in silent background cycles: projected phaser impacts warped off-target in predictive modeling, bent by localized curvature shifts. Photon torpedoes fared little better. Without a stable metric frame of reference, targeting solutions degraded by the second.

Meanwhile, Lieutenant Gagnon’s focused transmission cut through the chaos like a spear of coherence. The main deflector dish reconfigured, narrowing its broadcast arc to a tight, amplified beam—an electromagnetic whisper forced into a gravitational storm. Power draw spiked on the communications grid, but the signal held, a thin thread cast directly at the alien vessel’s last known coordinates.

For a moment—

Nothing.

Then, subtle but measurable: a fluctuation.

Not in subspace.

In the gravitational field itself.

The Shiarian ship’s distortion field rippled—not violently, but deliberately. The curvature stabilized by a fractional margin. The chaotic eddies dampened.

The alien vessel had not fired again.

It had… paused.

Bridge sensors detected a faint modulation pattern embedded within the surrounding gravitational noise—a structured variance, repeating at non-random intervals. Not a conventional reply, but possibly an answer nonetheless.

The region remained unstable. Structural stress continued to climb incrementally. Casualty reports were still incoming.

But the immediate escalation had halted.

The Merrimack hung suspended in a fractured sea of warped starlight, balanced between first contact and annihilation—between curiosity and catastrophe.

And somewhere within the bending geometry of space itself, something was listening.

Stella sat there in front of her display. One hand gripping it tightly to keep from flying off somewhere and the other tapping away. Recording something that she didn’t understand but which might be important. Her forehead glistened, both from fear and excitement. She caught the non-random sound and placed it in its own sound file. She tapped her fingertips across the edge of her display. She took a deep breath and whispered to herself. ” Man, I missed Mardi Gras this year!” Turning in her chair then she spoke to the captain. ” Captain sir? I just recoded something which wasn’t random. I’m not sure what it was but it wasn’t just background noise. With your permission I’d like to send their possible message back to them twice as they sent it and then send it to them in reverse so they may understand we are sentient beings at least. It’s the only thing I can come up with in such short time I’m afraid “

Stella Gagnon Lt.jg Comms

“Permission granted lieutenant! Continue all efforts to make contact with them,” the Captain replied.

The Captain continued, “We have no way to defend ourselves against these attacks. They come from a field of science in which we are ignorant. And as the XO implied, attacking them with our conventional weapons would probably have little effect on them, and so is no deterrence to their attacks. We have two options. We must either negotiate with them, or else return home. Right now, I don’t see that second option as failure at all. I told the admiral that this was a mission that demanded several ships, and no Starfleet intelligence mentioned these controlled spacetime curvature weapons or propulsion methods. I believe that those are the reason for the fracture of space within this whole Expanse region itself, and that intelligence itself is worth our little trip inside here. So a change of priorities. I think we ought to forget the mapping exercise as the fractures and eddies of space here will change as frequently as the shape of sand dunes in the desert, and instead concentrate on making First Contact to trying to build up some kind of relationship to make future diplomatic discussions possible. So, put all our efforts now into communication rather than surveying.”

• Glen, CO