The USS Galileo drifted through the Shackleton Expanse, sensors looking over pockets of empty space. Mapping gravitational eddies, logging odd readings, that was the job. Quiet work, the kind Starfleet crews secretly looked forward to after months of chaos.

Commander Delar hunched over the science display, his Denobulan eyes tracking faint shifts in ion density. He muttered to himself as if the universe might answer back.

AJ sat in the command chair, ignoring the flicker of his console. This mission was what the crew needed. Quiet. Predictable. The kind of quiet that was nice, until it wasn’t. The steady hum of the engines and the soft tap of fingers were the only sounds on the bridge.

He thumbed the armrest control. “Captain’s log, stardate… Our survey mission continues on schedule. No anomalies of concern. The quiet of this region is… oppressive. Silence isn’t peace, it’s a test. Crew remains alert. Systems functioning normally.”

He ended the recording and looked out at the stars. Mostly emptiness out there, streaked with faint nebula light. For a moment, he let himself relax, knowing better than to mistake comfort for safety.

“Captain,” Delar said, glancing toward the comm panel. “The outer sensors are showing a faint anomaly. Nothing major, but inconsistent.”

AJ leaned forward. “Show me.”

The main display shifted, blue-gray fields rippling with tiny distortions. “Could be a minor storm forming,” AJ said, though the words felt hollow even to him.

Delar shook his head. “There’s structure. It’s irregular but patterned. Could be natural… or not. Recommend a closer sweep.”

“Helm,” AJ said. “Ten-thousand-kilometer approach. Keep shields low enough not to skew readings.”

“Aye, sir,” Parker replied, hands steady on the controls. The Galileo slid forward, graceful.

Across the bridge, Commander Keller was already cross-checking old charts, fingers flicking through layers of data. Precise, patient, relentless, the man found joy in perfect calibration.

AJ watched Parker guide the ship through a thin band of asteroid dust. Her focus was total, jaw tight, eyes bright. He smiled; reckless or not, she could fly.

“Progress?” he asked.

Delar frowned at his screen. “Still scanning. Minor interference only. Region’s… quiet.”

There was that word again: quiet. AJ drummed his fingers against the chair arm. The last time things had been this quiet, they’d lost people. Survivor’s guilt still lurked behind every calm moment like a shadow. This is routine, he reminded himself.

“Keep me informed the moment anything changes.”

The hum of the deckplates filled the pause. Parker’s hands moved; Keller and Delar traded silent data; the ship breathed. AJ let his gaze drift back to the viewscreen. Even calm space seemed to hold its breath.

The turbolift doors opened. “Captain,” Talresh zh’Vael said, stepping onto the bridge. “The gravimetric patterns are odd, nothing dangerous yet, but inconsistent with a something this size. I’d suggest continued observation.”

“Work with Keller,” AJ said. “Refine the readings, isolate anything strange.”

“Yes, sir.”

Moments later, Parker broke the quiet. “Captain, I’m getting a faint signal. Intermittent. Weak, I almost missed it. Not a Federation frequency.”

AJ straightened. “let’s hear it.”

Delar isolated the source. The sound came through as a soft, rhythmic pulse buried under static. He frowned. “It’s strange. Structured. Someone, or something, is transmitting on purpose.”

“Any indication of origin?” AJ asked.

“Nothing. It’s faint and erratic, but deliberate.”

AJ felt a chill of recognition. “Maintain our distance,” he ordered. “Full scans only. Let’s know what we’re dealing with before we move.”

The bridge came alive with certain purpose; consoles glowed, fingers flew across consoles. Outside, the Galileo drifted through the silence, the faint pulse still echoing through the static, too weak to identify, too human to ignore.

Whatever was out there, their quiet assignment had just ended.