LtCol Wes Greaves – Flashing Lights

[Jacob Rittenhouse]

LtCol Wes Greaves – Flashing Lights

 

((Far beneath the surface – A lonely transit hub – Liminal Station, Marohu III))

 

The floor in the underground chamber still shimmered faintly from whatever energy they had awakened on entrance. Warm light spilled down from the vaulted ceiling, turning the once-dark hall into something almost sacred, as if a spotlight had been cast upon this lone desk.

 

Wes took a slow breath through his rebreather and felt the soft pull of moving air, a sign the system was circulating. The scale of the place dwarfed them, columns rising out of sight, walls curving in smooth precision, polished stone that glowed. The station felt partially awake, as though it were studying them back.

 

Lance Corporal Dapsis, a man of Wes’s own trade, a combat engineer, was trying to figure out how to activate the desk. As he scanned it, oscillating waves of light seemed to be sucked out of the device and flow toward the table.

 

Thasho: Whoa, cool.

 

Nis (whispering): We think that’s actually a bad thing.

 

Greaves: Could be some kind of payment system. Takes in energy to buy a ticket?

 

Even as he said the words, Wes knew it didn’t quite fit. Nothing about this civilization hinted at commerce. Whatever the device was, it belonged to a culture that had moved beyond such simplicity.

 

Nis: It is admittedly pretty.

 

A faint smile tugged at Wes’s mouth. Jania seemed to have a way of noticing the beauty in strange places, and it grounded the rest of them when everything else felt alien. He scanned the edges of the glowing table, watching as energy lines pulsed in slow, rhythmic waves.

 

For the first time since entering the vault, the silence felt less like absence and more like anticipation. Whatever intelligence built this place wanted them to act, to touch, to test.

 

Greaves: Any progress Marine?

 

Dapsis: Sir… it just ate two joules of power from my energy cell like a ration bar. Looks like it’s an interface, maybe even a power translator.

 

Greaves: Could be the key to activating the transit system. Keep at it.

 

Thasho: I’m going to go out on a limb and say it’s a compatibility issue.

 

Wes nodded, but from the corner of his eye he spotted Sam smirking like he’d just heard a joke Wes wasn’t privy too. The smile was almost infectious, and he nearly asked about it, but Wes managed to turn his attention back to the engineering problem at hand. Woolheater’s tricorder thrummed its steady pulse as he stepped closer to the table, watching Dapsis work.

 

Woolheater: ::to Dapsis:: Can you understand this?

 

Dapsis kept his attention on the task but answered anyway.

 

Dapsis: Not really, El Tee. I can see some logical flows… ::indicates with his index finger:: …looks like power to me, some kind of selective interface. And these crystals inside… they do something pretty important, but I dunno what.

 

Greaves: Could the crystals be like a logic circuit?

 

As the three Marines huddled around the glowing interface, Thasho voiced her opinion.

 

Thasho: Their style is just not like this. Everything is “Rub while thinking of your ex-girlfriend’s middle name” or something.

 

Woolheater: ::to Thasho:: You mean like… a genie in the lamp?

 

Greaves couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at his mouth. Even in the deepest reaches of an alien world, Marines found time for jokes.

 

The Klingon was right though, and moreso, she had the background to speak with some authority on these ruins. While he contemplated what to do next Jainia joined them in the huddle around the desk. He watched her gaze. While the rest of them had been focused on the scans, Jainia keyed in on the swirling script on written on the desk.

 

Nis: How about this one?

 

She pointed to a line that shimmered into translation: Dance and dream of your location.

 

Thasho: ::nodding:: Yeah, that sounds more like them.

 

Woolheater: All we need is a band. And I left my trumpet back on the ship.

 

Wes watched Sam move closer, his gloves half off, curiosity overriding caution. He brushed his fingertips across the obsidian surface. A thin tendril of light arced up from the surface, a vaporous filament of lightning touching the bare tip of his right index finger

 

Wes’s hand hovered unconsciously closer to his rifle as the air crackled. He’d seen plasma arcs like that before, usually before something exploded, but this one was too controlled, too deliberate. The light wasn’t attacking; it was curious.

 

When Sam withdrew his touch, the light faded except for one tiny pinprick that lingered. He glanced at Dapsis and Nis, slung the rifle over his shoulder, stripped off the glove, and reached out again.

 

This time, the energy met him halfway. The tendril brightened, curling around his fingers like living static. Another arc joined it, then another, until all five fingers were haloed in soft blue fire. He lifted his hand, and the tendrils stretched upward with him, elastic and alive. The fine hairs on his forearm stood on end. The only sound was a delicate hiss, like a circuit warming up.

 

Woolheater: ::quietly:: Well, that’s new.

 

Thasho: You’re glowing.

 

Woolheater: ::deadpan:: Been working on my inner light. Guess it’s finally paying off.

 

A soft gust rippled through the hall. The air smelled clean, metallic, and the pressure equalized against Wes’s ears. Oxygen and nitrogen readings flickered green across his HUD. The system was alive again.

 

Greaves: Sam? 

 

Woolheater: Whoa! I’m good… didn’t hurt… it felt like a scan.

 

Greaves: Okay, so it responded to touch. We’re getting somewhere. Now what?

 

Wes looked from face to face, hoping someone had an idea. It seemed that their Doctor certainly did because without much hesitation she approached Woolheater, grinning as she extended her hand.

 

Nis: Well, Sam, shall we dance?

 

Of all the strange things Wes had witnessed in the line of duty, this one earned a raised brow. Still, if the alien system wanted movement, then movement it would get. Sam stepped toward her, boots scraping the floor.

 

The sound triggered a pulse, soft at first, then building into rhythm. Brass tones flared from nowhere, rolling over the platform like thunder turned music. Wes’s heart skipped a beat as he recognized the melody, not exactly familiar but close, something from old Earth swing, echoing with Woolheater’s pulse.

 

Woolheater: No way! So weird! I hear this music in my head, and then it plays it.

 

Wes should have been analyzing frequency patterns, but instead he found himself listening, really listening, to the sound of it. The rhythm wasn’t random.

 

Greaves: They sound like Earth instruments, and I swear I recognize this song. Or at least the style. It must be pulling from your memory Sam.

 

Nis: Response

 

The music seemed to be sourceless, coming from everywhere at once and echoing through the crystalline lattice, given form by light. The melody deepened. Light rippled along the floor, golden waves dancing across the walls. The air vibrated with color and sound until the whole chamber seemed to breathe.

 

Sam’s fingers snapped once, twice. Each pop landed perfectly in time, a conductor’s cue to the unseen band.  The grin on Woolheater’s face was pure delight.

 

Greaves: Doctor, I think you might be on to something with the dancing idea.

 

Nis: Response

 

The pair met and by the look on Sam’s face, the other Marine was having the time of his life.

 

Woolheater: Aww… hell’s yeah. I can play any music in my head, and this’ll recreate it?

 

Sam took Jania’s outstretched hand, and they stepped out from behind the table.  The lights formed on the tracks behind them.

 

As Nis and Woolheater moved together, their steps fell into rhythm with the pulse of the light. The light mirrored every motion, each swing of an arm, each pivot of a foot, responding like an orchestra following a conductor.

 

Greaves watched them move in appreciation, one part observer, one part commander, cataloging everything even as he felt it in his chest. The station wasn’t just reacting to physical motion; it was responding to intention, to emotion itself. Or so it seemed.

 

Nis: Response

 

Greaves: (Shouting over the music) The inscription said something about dreaming too.

 

Nis/Woolheater: Response

 

The vibrations built into a low thrumming underfoot. Behind them the tracks of the train-like pods began to glow, lines of light chasing into the distance. Sparks cascaded from higher up along the support beams, falling over the pods like brilliant rain.

 

Greaves: (Shouting) It’s working.

 

Nis/Woolheater: Response

 

A sharp hum filled the air as the pod doors hissed apart, revealing an interior washed in amber light. Rows of seats curved along the walls, each with smooth black panels where controls might once have been. It looked ancient, yet clean, like a subway car carved from obsidian.

 

Greaves: Looks like that did it!

 

He raised his wrist-mounted tricorder and scanned the entry. The readouts flashed in shades of subdued green. Stable power, breathable atmosphere, no dangerous radiation. The system was running on energy levels consistent with a shuttle or large vehicle, but with no clear data on destination or route.

 

Nis/Woolheater: Response

 

Greaves: It’s powered and safe, but I can’t tell where it goes or how to start it yet.

 

Nis/Woolheater: Response

 

 

 

 

Tags/TBC

 

=========================
Lieutenant Colonel Wes Greaves
Marine Detachment Commander
USS Octavia E. Butler NCC-82850
E239702WG0
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