MSNPC Athemir Sael - Getting to Her

[Ryden Kel]

((Dark Hallway : Ivory Tower))

The console gave a final, sharp chirp beneath his hand. Sael did not
hesitate. His three-fingered grip moved with decisive precision across
the unfamiliar interface. He did not remember this station’s
systems... but systems were systems. Access hierarchies. Maintenance
bypasses. Redundancies hidden beneath civilian polish.

Across the room, a narrow service panel in the bulkhead groaned as its
seals released. Not a diplomatic door. Not meant for guests. Good. It
opened with a heavy mechanical grind, like something long neglected.

Sael: Move. Now.

Bryce did not argue this time. She scrambled toward the opening, boots
thudding clumsily against the deck. Behind them, the main door’s
status light began pulsing faster. A rising mechanical whine cut
through the room... the sound of override tools biting into the lock.

They were close. Too close.

Sael: Do not look back. If they breach, they will fire.

They slipped into the narrow gap just as the main door at the far end
of the room finally gave way. Sael heard it... the burst of voices,
sharp and overlapping, and the unmistakable snap-hum of phasers
powering up.

He sealed the service hatch behind them with a brutal shove. Darkness
swallowed them again. The maintenance shaft was suffocatingly tight.
No polished panels here. No diplomatic sheen. Just exposed
infrastructure. Thick bundles of EPS conduits throbbed along the
walls, heat radiating through the metal. The air tasted of coolant and
ozone. It reminded him of warships. Of places civilians were never
meant to see.

Bryce: This is gross. My mom would have a fit if she saw me in here.
She says the air in these tubes is like ninety percent recycled air
and coolant fumes. Do you actually know where this leads, or are we
just crawling into a dead end?

Sael moved forward, one hand braced against the vibrating conduit,
senses straining past the roar in his own ears. He did not know. But
he would not say that.

Sael: It leads away from them. That is enough.

A muffled command echoed through the access panels above. They had
found the hatch. Metal rang as someone forced it wider. Sael’s mind
was racing through tactical fragments... service corridors meant for
engineers, likely tying into central spines. Vertical shafts. Power
trunks leading toward docking rings. His ship.

Bryce: They are going to find us. If they use a localized life-sign
sweep, we are totally done for. Can your ship see us? Can it beam us
out or something?

Transporters. He clenched his jaw.

Sael: Not through this density of shielding. These conduits will
scramble a lock. We must move.

The truth, edged with urgency. They reached a vertical ladder
vanishing upward into darkness. The shaft stretched high, disappearing
into the inner rings of the station. Higher meant closer to structural
spines. Closer to docking architecture. Sael gestured sharply.

Bryce: Just so you know, ladders and I have never been friends.

Even now. Even here. For a split second he almost barked something
harsh... then stopped himself. She was terrified. So was he.

Sael: Climb. Slowly. If you fall, I cannot catch you and fight them at
the same time.

He placed one foot on the rung beneath her, ready to brace if she
slipped.Above them, the service hatch shrieked fully open. Boots
entered the shaft behind them. Sael looked up into the darkness and
began to climb.

((Time Skip — Maintenance Spine to Docking Ring))

It took longer than Sael would ever admit.

They moved through the maintenance network in deliberate silence,
doubling back twice when patrol voices drifted too near the thin
paneling. The service corridors grew warmer as they descended toward
heavier power conduits. Sael followed the vibration through the
walls... the low, bone-deep resonance of docking infrastructure
drawing nearer. Docking rings required structural reinforcement and
sustained energy feeds. Even without memory of this station,
engineering logic remained consistent across civilizations.

Sael stumbled more than once on uneven decking, catching himself with
a muttered complaint each time. His breathing echoed too loudly in the
narrow passages, and twice Sael halted abruptly, pressing Bryce back
against the conduit wall while Starfleet boots passed just meters away
on the other side of grated partitions.

When they finally reached a narrow service access overlooking the
docking ring, Sael eased forward and peered through the lattice.

There.

His ship.

Dark-hulled and angular against the curve of the station, secured in
the cradle by docking clamps and umbilical feeds. Her silhouette was
unmistakable. Even through the haze of fractured memory, recognition
hit with grounding force. He did not remember arriving... but he
remembered commanding her. Remembered issuing orders from her bridge.
Remembered defending Ameoneian space beneath her armor.

Bryce: ?

Sael: Yes, that is my ship. If we can get to her we can figure out
what is going on.

Between them and the berth stretched an exposed corridor lined with
active security. Two officers stood near the archway, another posted
at a control pillar beside the docking interface. The lighting in the
ring had mostly recovered from the blackout; shadows still lingered at
the edges, but not enough to cross unnoticed.

Bryce: ?

~~~~~~~~~~

MSNPC Athemir Sael
Chancellor, Aemoneian High Command


as simmed by:

-----
Lieutenant JG Ryden Sylvax
Assistant Chief Medical Officer
StarBase 118 Ops
O240109RK1