Tension filled the bridge as the crew of the Galileo waited for the unknown. Every officer moved with determination, their eyes locked on their consoles. Every motion was controlled in an attempt to avoid the chaos in front of them.

Commander Keller’s fingers moved quickly and rhythmically over the operations console. He didn’t look up when he spoke. “It’s repeating every eleven-point-two seconds. The modulation’s distorted, but the rhythm’s… structured.”

AJ leaned forward in his chair. “Structured how?”

Keller’s brow furrowed. “Like someone tried to hide it inside subspace noise. It’s an old trick, masking a distress call inside a carrier wave.” He hesitated, tapping once more before adding, “At least twenty-third century. Maybe older.”

The bridge went quiet.

Commander Delar stepped closer, his Denobulan calm unshaken. “Could be a relay ghost. We’ve seen transmissions bounce around ionized space for decades. Even centuries.”

Keller shook his head. “No, sir. The pattern’s adaptive. It’s like someone’s still maintaining it.” He spoke with a bit of confidence in his tone.

AJ felt the familiar tug in his gut. The one that always lived between curiosity and common sense. “Helm, bring us to intercept. One-quarter impulse. Let’s find our ghost.” AJ couldn’t help but remember his brief conversation with Elena. “Quiet rarely states quiet,” he muttered to himself.

“Aye, sir,” Parker said. The Galileo pivoted toward the storm’s heart, her hull catching light from the ion fields. The viewscreen filled with pale-blue light.

“Reading severe ionic interference,” reported Jalani from Engineering. “Shields fluctuating between eighty and ninety percent. Nothing critical yet, but I’d rather not test the next category.”

“Keep it stable,” AJ replied.

The comm hissed again. The pulse Keller mentioned grew clearer.

Keller glanced over his shoulder, his voice sounding a bit more urgent. “I’ve isolated part of the transmission. It’s a distress code.”

AJ’s stomach tightened. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Keller said. “Something is alive in there. Someone, or something, that is.”

The ship lurched as plasma scraped across the shields. Parker looked at her console, her eyes darting between displays. “Ion shear increasing, Captain. Adjusting course by five degrees.”

Delar leaned forward in his chair, “We are officially flying through a magnetic furnace. Sensors are barely functional.”

“Then we fly blind if we have to,” AJ said. “Keep her steady.”

Lightning flashed across the viewscreen as waves of blue light swirled around the ship. For a moment, the Galileo was suspended inside the storm’s glowing grip.

“Shields at seventy-five percent,” Jalani called out. “Diverting power from the secondary systems to compensate.”

“Do it.”

The ship rocked hard enough to make the deck plattes rumble. Beckett stumbled in from the turbolift, medkit slung over his shoulder. “Are we crashing, or is this one of those dramatic tests of faith?”

“Neither, Doctor” AJ said. “Just a Wednesday.”

Beckett grinned faintly and grabbed a console rail. “I’ll stand by in case anyone forgets how bones work.”

Keller didn’t laugh, but his hands moved faster. He whispered numbers under his breath. “Eleven point two… eleven point three…” as if grounding himself.

Parker caught it, smirked. “You always count like that when you’re nervous?”

“Always,” Keller replied flatly. “It helps keep me calm.” Another ripple of static cut through the speakers. Keller’s console sounded. “Captain, got it. Partial visual feed.”

“On-screen,” AJ ordered.

The storm filled the viewscreen. It was chaotic. The storm flashed brightly, and then, finally, something flickered. Something metallic reflected the lightning: a hull, scorched and twisted, drifting on the current of charged plasma.

“There,” Parker said sharply. “Visual contact confirmed.”

The Galileo inched closer. The storm parted just enough for them to see the object fully: a shuttle, or something like one. Its lines were unfamiliar: neither Starfleet nor any design in the database. Fragments of writing ran along one side, half-melted by heat and time.

Delar frowned. “That’s not Federation, not even close.”

Keller’s voice was barely above a whisper. “The frequency’s modulating through an old emergency channel.”

Beckett stepped closer to the screen. “So… we’ve got an ancient distress call coming from a ship that shouldn’t exist? Definitely not Wednesday”

“I would agree, Doctor.” AJ said.

Parker adjusted the helm. “Sir, we’re nearing the limit of shield stability. We stay much longer, we’ll cook our sensors and possibly ourselves.”

“Speaking as the only Doctor here, I don’t recommend that,” Beckett said, “should have stayed in sickbay.”

AJ’s eyes stayed on the drifting vessel. “Any life signs?” he asked.

Keller worked the sensors again. “Intermittent. Faint. Could be power feedback, could be… something else.”

“Define something else.”

“Unknown biological energy signature,” Keller said carefully. “But not consistent with any catalogued species.”

Delar folded his arms. “We should mark it and pull back. Analyze from a safer distance.”

AJ hesitated. Every reasonable instinct agreed. But the pulse was still coming through the comm. A signal that had waited for someone to listen. He turned toward the crew. “Prep a shuttle for away support, minimal crew, full hazard gear.”

Surprised, Keller turned in his chair . “Sir, the interference field will shred a small craft.”

AJ nodded once. “Then we’ll find another way. But I won’t ignore a distress call, not when it’s still trying to reach us.”

Lightning flash again, this time a blinding blue filled the bridge. When it faded, the shuttle’s beacon blinked once, twice, then went dark.

“Signal just dropped,” Keller shouted.

Parker looked over her shoulder, to the Captain waiting for his orders.

AJ looked out at the viewscreen at where the shuttle had been located. He swore he could still hear that signal echoing faintly through the static. He smiled as he straightened his uniform.

“Let’s see what it is,” he said.