Ancient Legacies Part 4

 The Infirmary

The blast door to the Titan-class dreadnought's primary medical bay was partially fused by centuries of absolute zero, requiring a agonizing cocktail of hydraulic tools and muscle from Miller and Kovic to force a narrow gap. When the team finally squeezed inside, the oppressive, surgical order they had grown accustomed to elsewhere on the ship was violently shattered.

"Dear God..." the team's medic, Specialist Aris, whispered, her voice tightening inside her helmet.

The Infirmary was an explosion of ancient agony. Unlike the rest of the ship, which seemed preserved in sterile stasis, this room looked like it had been through a vicious, close-quarters melee and then frozen mid-scream. A thick, opaque layer of frost rime covered everything, turning what should have been a warm environment into a glittering mausoleum.

Their torch beams swept over surgical trays that had been upended, spilling archaic, rust-brown, and bloodstained medical instruments onto the deck. On several of the raised, antiquated diagnostic beds, frozen bodies lay covered in bloodstained medical sheets, the fabric now rigid and glistening with ice. Ripped and stiffened by the frost, patches of old-style Earth Alliance uniforms were visible. Many of the corpses bore horrific, violent trauma: missing limbs, ruptured chest cavities, and severe energy burns, all preserved perfectly by the deep cold.

"This wasn't just battle damage," Specialist Miller murmured, checking his rifle's charge. "This looks like internal panic. A last stand."

Vance guided the team in, their magnetic boots clicking a rhythmic clack-hiss on the ice-slicked deck. "Childs, Aris. Status on power. Miller, Kovic, watch the approaches. This place has a different echo than Officer Country."

Aris drifted toward a central cluster of medical monitors. "Standby lights are holding, Commander. Ancient filament tech, barely alive, but enough. They're flickering."

Indeed, a low, pulsing amber light radiated from several antiquated, CRT-style monitors displaying the last readings. The screens were cracked, showing 300-year-old patient ID codes and critical, frozen vitals data, all buried under ice.

Ensign Childs plugging his modern interface tool into a prehistoric port with a frustrated click. "Captain, the core is powered up here, but the data matrix is fragmented. It's a miracle anything survived." He squinted at the screen. "We have analysis coming through from the core systems logs... The diagonal railgun strike through the main hull... analysis confirms it depressurized 60% of the ship instantly."

Childs scrolled further down. "This file... it's a casualty roster. The initial strike killed or wounded 45% of the ship's crew outright. Look at the names, Vance."

Aris read over his shoulder, her helmet reflecting the amber light. "Command staff wiped out. It says... Chief Engineer Adam Wilkins and the ship's first officer, Commander Susan Valentine. They were leadership. The Admiral must have been truly alone when he made that purge order."

Vance adjusted her internal life support mix, the clean, recycled air on the Swiftsure feeling very far away. "Understood, Childs. Aris, can we salvage any bio-data? We need to know who these people were and if they knew what hit them."

Vance then activated her primary transmitter. "Jax, this is Vance. We are inside the Infirmary. It’s... a graveyard. Standby lights and terminals are functional, but damaged."

Her voice was instantly cut off. The comms channel, crystal clear seconds ago, was again swallowed by a dynamic, layered wash of screeching interference. It wasn't simple static; it sounded purposeful, almost vocal, a chaotic, shrieking distortion.

Through the shrieking, Jax’s voice fought its way back, broken and digitized. "Copy... graveyard. Signal... critical... The transmitters... are powerful... shouldn't... be this bad."

Vance took point, moving toward the far end of the bay. "Miller, watch that aft hatch. Childs, find the source of that core surge."

Near one of the beds, surrounded by overturned IV poles and frozen gauze, Marine Kovic called out. "Captain! We have identification."

Kovic pointed his torch at a standard clipboard that was floating gently in the low gravity near a frost-covered body. At the top of the frozen stack of papers, clearly embossed in antiquated silver, was the ship's full name and crest.

Vance read it, her voice dropping all inflection. "EAS Starlight's Wings. Titan Class dreadnought. Hull number 04-T."

She immediately turned back to her radio. "Jax. We have an ID. EAS Starlight's Wings. Type 04-T Titan. Disregard the static and find anything you can in the ancient archives. Pre-Unification EA records, Jax. Acknowledge."

The radio screamed again, then Jax's voice cut through for two clear seconds. "Understood, Captain. Searching pre-Unification records now. We have a matching registry block... but access is flagged 'SENIOR OFFICERS ONLY'. Standby."

UEN Swiftsure

While the away team spread out to search the frost-bitten Infirmary, back on the UEN Swiftsure, Chief Engineer Sarah Torres walked slowly through Main Engineering. She was focused on her datapad, her brow furrowed as she swiped through fuel usage logs and the critical levels of fuel cell reserves for the long, two-week slipspace run they would have to attempt soon.

The thrum of the modern UEN cruiser was reassuring, a functional contrast to the nightmare dreadnought. Sarah rounded the corner to pass through the hatch into her dedicated office, located just off the massive main engineering bay. She was expecting the comfort of her familiar workspace, the humming interface of her terminals.

She stopped dead in the hatchway.

In the centre of her office, standing perfectly motionless and bathed in the holographic blue and green grid of her Master Systems Display (MSD), was a figure.

The figure was frost-covered.

It was clad in an antique, high-collared Earth Alliance Service Uniform, the blue and gold livery now covered in a glistening layer of rime. The flesh visible on its face was not human—it was like old, gray parchment, tight and wrinkled. Its eyes were pits of absolute darkness, empty sockets that seemed to absorb the light. The creature was staring directly at the Swiftsure's Master Systems Display, which was currently cycling a critical analysis of the current fuel consumption against the power draw of the ZPM core on the dreadnought.

Sarah stood paralyzed, her heart pounding against her ribs. She was reaching for the comm panel near the door, her fingers moving in slow motion, when the creature reacted. It didn't speak. It turned its head with a sharp, desiccated crack, and its dark, pit-like eyes met hers. A wave of profound, invasive cold washed over her, freezing the breath in her throat.

For a second, they locked eyes. Then the figure turned smoothly, moving with a stiff, unnatural grace toward the dedicated storeroom at the back of her office. As it moved across the spotless, functional UEN deck, Sarah noted with rising horror that it was leaving frosted, shimmering bootprints on the warm deck plating.

"Security! All available to Main Engineering! Hostile boarding event in my office!" she screamed, hitting the general alarm, her voice cracking the professional veneer.

She followed the trail slowly, hyper-aware of the physical, sizzling sound of the frosted bootprints on the warm deck. She avoided the tracks, her datapad falling from her numb fingers. Behind her, the sharp clack-hiss of UEN boots was getting louder, the sound of Sgt. Jensen’s security team rushing to her position. Sarah pushed past the threshold of the storeroom door. She knew this room. It was tiny, sealed, and always kept locked. It contained only specific, hyper-secure engineering components.

She looked inside.

The storeroom was empty. There was no other exit, no way out. The figure was gone. Torres looked down. The trail of frosted bootprints ended perfectly at the precise threshold of the room, as if the entity had simply winked out of existence the moment its last foot touched the storeroom floor. She stepped back, her breath caught in her throat. Jensen’s security team, weapons hot, was rushing past the open hatch of Main Engineering. Torres didn't look back at them. She was staring at the MSD, then at the empty storeroom, her eyes wide.

Sarah exclaimed, her voice barely a whisper through the rushing adrenaline.

"What the hell!!!"