The Shackleton Expanse seemed to be swallowing the T’Seran whole as the ion clouds wrapped around the hull. Rekan’s console flickered, “Commander…” he muttered, “…signal coherence fluctuating, but the vector remains the same.”

Tavik stepped closer. “How constant?”

“Within one thousand kilometers.” Rekan did not hide his discomfort. “If the storm’s shear eased for even thirty seconds, we might achieve visual contact.”

Serala folded her arms behind her. “Or discover we are flying directly into it.”

Mel half-ignored the tension. “This pattern is too structured to be environmental noise.”

There was a brief pause in the storm, as something came into view. It was brief but unmistakable.

Serala stiffened. “Visual contact, Commander, it’s the Galileo. Luckly, their sensors can’t see through this storm.”

Mel allowed herself a sigh of relief. “Good. If there are survivors, they’ll do everything to reach them.”

Serala shot her a glare. “Contain your enthusiasm.”

Tavik raised a hand, silencing them both. “Observe only.”

The Derelict

Lightning split the void, illuminating the drifting wreck. It was a half-phased shuttle, twisted open like a wound. The Galileo moved toward it with practiced purpose.

Rekan shook his head. “Reckless. They don’t understand the danger.”

Mel bristled. “They understand just fine. What they won’t do is leave someone behind.”

Serala muttered, “Sentiment is a weakness Starfleet cultivates.”

“It’s also why they save lives,” Mel countered.

Tavik waved a hand dismissing the argument without raising his voice. “Quiet.”

Containment Bay Three

The alien fragment surged, brighter than before. T’Leth leaned against the console.

“It senses the other mind,” she breathed. “Recognition achieved.”

“They’re connected,” a nurse said. “Two halves of the same being.”

T’Leth nodded slowly. “Its biology is adaptive. It cannot stabilize without rejoining what was separated.”

“Then we have to keep it alive,” the nurse insisted.

Lightning rolled through the hull—another surge.

Bridge

Rekan’s console screamed suddenly. “Commander, psionic resonance building between both entities. It’s bridging across the storm!”

Serala frowned. “Cross-ship influence?”

“Possible,” Rekan said tightly. “Likely.”

Mel stepped forward. “They’re calling to each other. The Galileo’s survivor is responding.”

Tavik didn’t look away from the storm.

“So,” he murmured, “the Federation carries the other half.”

Mel swallowed. “What do we do?”

Tavik folded his hands behind him, a small sign of tension. “We follow,” he said softly. “And we prepare for the moment when silence is no longer possible.”

A ripple cut through the ion clouds, Mel’s breath hitched. “There did you feel that?”

Serala looked at her console. “The storm’s behavior is changing. It’s… aligning.”

“Resonance shift,” Rekan confirmed, fingers moving fast over his console. “Matching frequency with both entities. I don’t like this.”

Tavik stepped closer to the screen. The Galileo had slowed something had got it’s attention. The half-phased shuttle rotated, its torn hull flickering in and out of phase.

Mel whispered, “They’re sychronizing.”

Serala opened her mouth to object, but the ship shuddered, violently this time. Bridge lights dimmed. A harmonic hum vibrated the deck.

Mel’s voice trembled with realization. “It’s guiding us. Both ships. The storm isn’t trapping us: it’s herding us.”

Tavik straightened, resolve settling in. “Maintain distance. Match their course. But no further assumptions.”

Another pulse tore through the expanse, and the T’Seran followed, bound to a path none of them had chosen.