Personal Log – Officer Caleb Royce
They think I'm the problem. I see it in their eyes – Commander Reed, Captain Voss, even Nova. The way they look at me, like I'm a bomb about to go off. Hell, maybe I am. I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I'm back on that derelict, floating in silence, with those... things watching from the walls. But it's not just memories. I'm hearing things. I know it sounds crazy. In the shower after decon, I swear I heard someone call my name – but no one was there. And last night, in my quarters, I thought I heard scratching inside the walls. Probably just my mind playing tricks after what we saw.
I haven't talked to anyone about this. Who would I tell? Dr. Zhang would ground me from duty. Reed would probably smirk and suggest I take a sedative, as if I'm some scared rookie. And Nova... I can't show weakness in front of her. She already chose him, anyway.
I'm fine. I'll be fine. Maybe writing this down will shut my brain up for a few hours. End log.*
Caleb Royce sighed and rubbed his temples before tapping the save icon on the console by his bunk. The soft glow of the screen was the only light in his small cabin, painting his face in cold blue. He felt ridiculous making a personal log – that was the kind of touchy-feely exercise the ship counselor used to recommend back when they had one on board. But he hadn't lied: sleep was elusive. Every time he drifted off, a flurry of half-formed images pulled him back awake – shadows shifting, or a voice whispering just beyond hearing.
He stood up and pulled on a t-shirt over his athletic frame. Maybe a walk would clear his head. Or better, a workout. Something to burn off the excess adrenaline coursing through him.
The corridor lights were dimmed to night-cycle mode. It was between shifts, and most were either asleep or quietly at the station. Caleb passed a couple of technicians murmuring to each other, who fell silent as he approached. He wondered if they were talking about him. Ever since his outburst at the Captain, he felt the sting of a dozen wary eyes. He was the malcontent, the hothead. Let them think it, he brooded. Maybe he shouldn't have sounded off so hard, but damn it, he wasn't wrong about any of it.
He entered the ship's small gym – really just a converted storage room with a few resistance machines and VR sparring gear. It was empty at this hour. Perfect. Caleb started a treadmill, setting it to high gravity simulation for extra strain. He ran hard, pushing his body to exhaustion.
As he ran, his mind churned. Images of Nova and Reed laughing together in the corridor earlier replayed in his head. Reed's hand on her arm, her looking up at him with worry and warmth. Caleb's jaw tightened. They have no idea how much I've done for this crew, he thought. How many times I've had their backs. He increased the treadmill speed, muscles burning. Reed always had it easy – favored by the Captain, respected by all. And Nova... he and Nova had been friends once, even flirted on long watch shifts. He'd thought maybe – but then Reed swooped in with his commander charm.
A phantom whisper brushed Caleb's ear, startling him: "...loyalty...," it seemed to sigh.
He stumbled, nearly hitting the side rail of the treadmill. He tore off his headphones (though no music was playing) and looked around, chest heaving. "Who's there?" he barked into the empty gym.
No answer. The only sound was the treadmill's belt still whirring until he shut it off.
Caleb pressed a hand to his forehead. Get a grip. He must be more tired than he thought, so tired he was hallucinating snippets of sound. The whisper had sounded oddly like Captain Voss's voice for a second, or was it someone else? It faded too quickly.
Heart still pounding from the run and the scare, he grabbed a towel and left the gym, deciding maybe he should try to sleep after all.
As he headed back to his quarters, he passed by the medical lab. Through the small observation window, he noticed Dr. Zhang hunched over an electron microscope, alone under bright white lab lights. Curiosity tugged at Caleb – part of him wanted to know what the doctor was finding with that damned sample, if anything. Another part of him felt a prickle of unease and decided he'd rather not know right now.
He continued on, unaware of the almost invisible black filament that had slipped out from the sole of his shoe. The thin strand of organic material quivered for a moment on the metal floor, then quickly retracted into a wall vent, merging with the darkness.
Inside the medlab, Dr. Elias Zhang stifled a yawn and refocused the microscope. On the slide was a minuscule speck of the Halcyon biomass sample. Staining tests showed it wasn't fungal, nor like any bacteria he knew. Under high magnification, the structure looked like interwoven fibrous cells, almost plant-like, but flexible and with strange motile cilia.
He dictated quietly into his recorder. "Initial analysis of Sample H-1. The material appears to be a composite of organic compounds including proteins, chitin-like fibers, and traces of metallic elements... possibly iron or copper. No clear cell nuclei observed – structure is atypical. When exposed to various stimuli – heat, light, electrical current – sample shows minor reactive movement." He paused, watching as he increased the slide's temperature slightly. The black fibers on the slide coiled imperceptibly. "The sample is responsive to stimuli, though it's unclear if this is a living metabolic reaction or simple physio-chemical behavior."
Zhang removed his eyes from the microscope and scribbled a note. He felt a shiver – the lab was cold, perhaps to preserve the sample, or maybe it was just his nerves. Every so often he glanced across the room to the sealed container that held the bulk of the sample, a fist-sized chunk of inert black matte flesh sitting in a vacuum tube. It hadn't moved at all since being placed there, thankfully.
Resuming his dictation, Zhang added, "No replication observed in the small fragment under study, but the sample appears intact and un-degraded. Will attempt a mild nutrient solution to test for growth." He prepared a dropper with a common growth medium and carefully introduced a single drop to the edge of the slide.
What happened next was subtle, but Zhang's trained eye caught it: the fibrous tendrils on the slide shifted, almost reaching toward the drop of liquid. The movement was more pronounced than before.
He sucked in a breath. "Definite movement toward nutrients. This thing... it might be feeding." He felt both excitement and dread. If it was alive, truly alive, that meant—
Suddenly, his tablet pinged with an incoming message. The sound made him jump, nearly dropping the dropper. With a self-deprecating chuckle, he set it aside and checked the message. It was from Science Officer Wei, who was monitoring remote sensors on the Halcyon wreck:
"Dr. Zhang – possible new data: station picked up a faint thermal reading inside Halcyon just now. Could it be residual or something active? Will investigate further."
Zhang frowned. Thermal reading? The Halcyon had been a tomb when they left. Perhaps some chemical battery giving out a last heat signature, or maybe a small reactor still decaying.
He typed back quickly, "Noted. Keep me updated on any changes. Could be nothing."
Turning back to his microscope, he startled. The sample on the slide was gone.
For a second, his fatigued brain couldn't process it. He leaned in. The slide was still there, the coverslip intact, a smear of nutrient fluid... but the black speck was missing.
No, there – a residue at the very edge of the coverslip, as if the thing had moved beyond the field of view. Zhang carefully adjusted the scope, scanning... There. The fragment had somehow inched to the periphery of the slide, drawn toward the drop of nutrient, and now clung to the underside of the glass.
Zhang let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Sample fragment demonstrates locomotion on microscale, moving toward nutrient source," he recorded shakily. "Speed... extremely slow, but definitely motile."
He decided that was enough for tonight. Carefully, he sterilized the slide and returned the fragment to the sealed container with the rest, using robotic micro-arms inside the isolation box. As he sealed it, he made sure all gloves and tools were thoroughly UV-sterilized.
Zhang peeled off his lab gloves, rubbing his eyes. He needed rest before he accidentally made a mistake. If this material was alive – and he was now convinced it was – it was unlike any life form he'd studied. The implications gnawed at him. Did the Halcyon crew know what they had found? Did they unleash it accidentally?
He placed the sealed container into a locked specimen safe and double-checked the magnetic clamps. Satisfied that it was secure, he left the medlab, logging the door behind him.
Down the corridor, he passed by an air vent and paused. A whisper – like a faint echo – drifted through the vent grille. It almost sounded like someone... crying? He leaned in, pressing his ear closer.
Nothing. Just a soft whoosh of the ventilation system. Zhang shook his head. You're imagining things now, old man, he chided himself. With that, he turned and headed to his quarters for some much-needed sleep.
Elsewhere on the ship, others were experiencing their own unsettled nights. In the communications array room, Nova Mendes woke with a start from a doze at her console – she was back on a short comm shift to relieve a colleague. She could have sworn she'd heard a man sobbing behind her, but when she checked, the room was empty and dark.
On the engineering deck, a junior tech found one of the coolant valves inexplicably left open, leaking fluid – an accident that could have been serious. He swore he had closed it earlier. He sealed it again, puzzled at his own potential oversight.
Little things, out of place. Little sounds, just at the edge of hearing. A shadow cast where no person stood.
Through the Odyssey's corridors crept a sense of being watched. Unseen by the crew, a thin black filament slid along the ceiling of Deck 3, briefly silhouetted against a flickering light before it vanished into a service hatch. In the darkness of the crawlspaces, the symbiote quietly spread its influence, tendril by tendril, thought by thought, seeding subtle nightmares into the minds of those it would soon consume.