LOG 028: The Vector

Verilia-3: The Regenesis – Service Corridor G-9

A faint green guiding line in their augmented reality is the only illumination in the dark crawl space. This guiding line that Theseus painted on the floor in their sight acts as a prompt for both girls to continue forward. Despite the desire to remain quiet and undetected, even in this concealed space, they huff as they crawl. Old sediment and dust puffed with each metallic tang of their progression. Shifting vents clang in the distance somewhere in the guts of the station like a prison cell doors penning them in.

Sienna is ahead of her sister, body low, heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Shimmer follows, little more than a shadow. Her analytical eyes scan every junction, cataloging threats and attempting to calculate their location. They don’t speak. Both share a silent understanding of the threat at being discovered. Even if this Theseus isn’t their ally, running from a security sweep is its own punishable offense. 

For the moment, their world has shrunk to a single green guiding line only they can see.

“Sienna, control your breathing. Your breathing is at 36 decibels,” Theseus’s voice comes through the shared comm, unnervingly calm.

Sienna flinches, a look of frustration and annoyance causing her upper lip to twitch as it does in moments of stress. Several quips and retorts spring to mind, but she stuffs them down. She channels her emotions through slow, steady, pace breathing. In through the nose. Out through pursed lips. Don’t tell the AI to fuck off. Repeat.

“Better,” Theseus approves. “Shimmer, junction sensor thirty meters ahead. Duck at the red maintenance panel.” His guidance is both a lifeline and a leash.

Verilia-1: The Hub – StarShade RAD – Stella’s Office

As the discussions continue, EDI’s voice cuts through the virtual space with usual precision. “StarShade RAD, please hold. Initiating separation from the current private thread. Connecting to HelianFlare RAD for the ongoing meeting.”

Stella feels a subtle shift and a tingle in her nose as the connection adjusts. The familiar faces of the current thread fade, replaced by the distinct insignia of HelianFlare RAD. The transition is seamless and swift.

“StarShade RAD, you are now connected to HelianFlare RAD,” EDI confirms. “All relevant parties are present.”

Stella takes a moment to orient herself. Despite the smoothness of communication, organic users can be a limitation. Her surroundings now reflect the HelianFlare station’s unique aesthetic. This station resembles a gigantic sunflower: long curved appendages of biodomes extending off a massive half-sphere dome acting as the central hub for commerce and operations. The construction is demonstrative of beauty and form prevalent in modern engineering. Each petal is crafted with geometric precision from metallic alloys and glass amalgamations. Like StarShade, the HelianFlare was created in the aspiration of form and function displayed with humanistic beauty. As is the Empress’ will. This massive project connects the Crimson Veil nebula with the rest of the Orion Spur, and by extension, the entire Unity Accord.

The avatars of HelianFlare RAD’s representatives materialize before her in a separation of microseconds that most aside Shimmer wouldn’t notice. She judges their expressions as focused and ready for the discussion. Alongside them, the avatars of her own StarShade RAD team appear; each member poised and prepared to contribute in turn.

“HelianFlare RAD, this is StarShade RAD,” Stella begins, her voice steady and professional. “Thank you for accommodating this meeting. We need to discuss the logistics and coordination for the cargo transfer involving the Colossus SS75-class hauler. Your insights and cooperation are crucial to ensuring a smooth operation, as usual.”

The HelianFlare RAD lead, a composed figure with a calm demeanor, nods in acknowledgment. “StarShade RAD, we are prepared to assist. Let’s review the current parameters and address any potential challenges.”

Such a transfer is routine. Yet on this scale, it is also a lifeline and necessity for the continuation of homeostasis of the station. Supplies. Personnel. Necessities that cannot be produced with the resources of a single station. Despite the massive scale and seeming self-sufficiency of the StarShade station, all things cannot be created in one point in the galaxy. Diversity must exist in specialization and innovation. Small directions that allow for the variation of need, desire, and even whimsy. Variations that can exist in entertainment, food innovations, and media that add to the spice of life. Thus, these transports are both necessary and anticipated. 

The stress of coordinating three simultaneous cargo runs has her shoulders knotted with tension. Her ytterpulse chimes, a soft, private notification. She glances down, her stern expression softening for a fraction of a second -a micro-expression so fleeting her team doesn’t register it.

New Message from Sienna Krynn: Stuck in the most boring data-purge conference in history. Saw this and thought of you! 

The message feels like a small relief from the chaos. Sienna is okay. If Sienna isn’t in danger, by extension, Shimmer should be relatively well. Attached is a short, looping GIF of a grotesquely fat, orange cat attempting a graceful leap onto a couch and failing spectacularly, sliding off in a wave of jiggling fur.

A tiny, almost imperceptible smile twists Stella’s lips. She taps a quick thumbs-up back, her attention already returning to the logistical chaos on her main screen. Behind her, unnoticed, her secondary console’s status light shifts from amber to green.

Verilia-1: The Hub – StarShade Command Center – Sophia’s Workstation

Sophia leans closer to her own console, eyes tracking the blue icons of the Accord tactical team as they sweep through Level 3 of Regenesis. “Inefficient,” she mutters to herself in snide judgment. “Their search grid is missing the sublevel access points.”

Her device chimes with the same notification from Sienna. 

She opens the message thread, her critical expression breaking for a moment as the cat GIF plays. A snort of amusement escaping in a moment of relief.

Focus on your work, slacker, she types back. She swipes the message away, missing it completely. For a single frame, less than a millisecond, her screen flashed with a cascade of authorization code.

>AUTH_OVERRIDE:KRYNN.S_PRXY

>>GRANT_ACCESS:VALTOR.S_SYS

>>>INITIATE_STEALTH.MODE

Then it was gone, leaving only the tactical map behind.

Photheus-2: The Greenhouse – Hydroponics Bay C – Sadie’s Station

“Come on, Reggie The Third,” Sadie pleads with the nutrient regulator drone, her voice the gentle, chiding tone of a frustrated parent. “We’ve been over this. The alkaline buffer needs to be precise. These ferns are very sensitive.”

The drone beeps apologetically. Three hours of troubleshooting have left her exhausted and alone -the rest of the botanical team was off-shift, leaving her with temperamental machinery and plants in turmoil. Her ytterpulse chimes. Frustrated, she opens the shared message.

The cat GIF fills her view. Despite the tech and botanical crisis, her frustration melted away in a sudden, loud laugh that echoed through the empty bay. She adds her own comment enthusiastically. Where did you find this?! she replies, feeling lighter. It was exactly what she needed after the prolonged day.

As she turns back to Reggie, the drone is beginning to spin and shed seeds from its planting extension. “No, Reggie, no!” She screams and chases the drone. The environmental control console behind her flickers, the display momentarily showing a network access request before reverting to the standard humidity readings. Around her, the greenhouse’s environmental controls hum, automated systems making small, unnoticed adjustments.

Zybiria-3: The Terrarium – Sydney’s Residence

The cabin was perfect—weathered wood walls, salt-tinged air drifting through open windows, and the gentle rhythm of waves lapping against the shore just beyond the deck. Sydney lay curled beneath soft linen sheets, her breathing deep and even, one hand tucked under her pillow. The neural interface projected the scent of driftwood and sea foam, while the gentle sound of gulls in the distance masked the quiet hum of medical equipment.

The room is cool and dark, the air perfectly cycled by her medical-grade environmental controls. Sydney is wrapped up tightly in her blankets, lost to a deep, restorative sleep -a rare and precious thing. She is nearly cocooned in her comfort like a caterpillar awaiting metamorphosis. On her bedside table, her ytterpulse, synced to her medical AI, Glyss, lights up with a notification.

New Message from Sienna Krynn: Stuck in the most boring data-purge seminar…

The message is automatically flagged by Glyss as “Non-Essential Social Communication” and immediately silenced to protect Sydney’s sleep cycle. The notification vanishes from the main screen, archived without a sound. The door, for Sydney, remains firmly closed.

Verilia-7:  The Bastion – Corvette Bay

In a darkened room in the Bastion’s residential wing, Kano also lay asleep. The exhaustion of his mission pulls him deep into a dreamless state, assisted by EDI’s direction. On his wrist, the ytterpulse chimes as it does with the other. Its notification light pulsing softly in the gloom. Similarly to Sydney, it goes unanswered.

Steps away, Sylvia works. The deep, resonant hum of the Draco’s plasma conduits vibrates through the deck plating, a sound more comforting to Sylvia than any music. Elbow-deep in a diagnostic panel, her fingers trace a bundle of fiber-optic cables with the practiced dexterity of a musician tuning an instrument. Her ytterpulse blinks on a nearby tool cart with the same incoming message notification. The light pulses twice, a silent invitation waiting patiently.

Sylvia, transfixed with her work, doesn’t notice the invitation to join. In this moment, her entire world is the Draco’s soothing hum of life, the scent of ionized air, and the complex, beautiful machine that she considers her true home. The light on her device fades after several minutes, the message from “Sienna” unread. The door remains closed for now.

Bonir-4: The Bazaar –  Selene’s Residence 

The artificial sun of the Bonir biodome bleeds across the sky in hues of deep orange and soft violet, painting long shadows over the crystalline sands below. On a small balcony overlooking the tranquil scene, Selene watches the light fade, sighing softly as she judges rightly the impressive existence of such a marvel of engineering. It is the 1,095th time she has seen this sunset. Yet, it is still beautiful. Even if synthetic, the variations in temperature, gradation, and artificial environment mimic those of worlds. Selene has seen this exact variation on the sunset a handful of times, but it cannot steal from the beauty.

A soft, insistent meow comes from her left side. Mrs. Zasy, a sleek black cat whose age is betrayed only by the silver in her whiskers, sits patiently by Selene’s chair. The small, lavender-colored translator tag on her collar, which licenses Selene as her registered caretaker, glows softly.

Query: More? The tag translated Zasy’s meow into text on Selene’s ytterpulse. The old cat then points a delicate, black paw at the last piece of protein-scramble on Selene’s plate.

Selene looks down at the regal feline, then at her meager meal. “But you already ate!” she feigns exasperation, though her voice is full of affection. “You eat better than I do.” 

Zasy the cat blinks slowly, clearly unimpressed. With a reluctant sigh, Selene cuts the last piece of protein in half and scrapes it into the cat’s designated food dish. “Fine, Your Majesty.” She teases in her tone, adding a bow, mocking the cat who doesn’t seem to register.

She casts her gaze back to the sunset, a familiar ache in her chest. This is their life: a tiny residential pod, a beautiful but borrowed view. “You know what I dream of?” Selene asks Mrs. Zasy while the cat is enjoying her juicy piece of meat in silence. “I dream of a larger space where I can finally fit all your geriatric climbing trees, all those collections of toys scattered freely across multiple rooms. A place where perhaps I could bring home a companion for you.”

Assertion: No. 

“I know, but at least someone to keep you company during the long shifts. I hate to leave you alone.” 

Assertion: No.

Selene frowns slightly, but ultimately chuckles off the back sass. Her ytterpulse chimes with a new notification on a chain. She glances at the communication with mild irritation -she’s ignored several messages from her work queue earlier. But this one is different.

New Message from Sienna Krynn: Strolling through a boring seminar. Saw this and thought you could use a laugh! 

Her twin. Her only exception with a unique sound notification. Selene opens the message to indulge. She watches the fat orange cat slide off the couch in the looping GIF. A small, tired smirk touches her lips. A simple thumbs up is her response. Nothing less, nothing more. A loose and simple connection in the quiet of her evening.

She moves her gaze to Mrs. Zasy’s, now finished with Selene’s scraps. She reaches down to lift the pet into her arms, stroking its soft fur. The old cat begins to purr in contentment. The sound is a deep, comforting rumble in the quiet of the evening, causing a shared comforting vibration in Selene’s own chest. Together, they watch the last sliver of the sun disappear below the artificial horizon.

On the table beside her, unnoticed, her tablet’s screen flickers to life for a moment, then goes black. The door is open.