Resonance Part I
Posted on Sun Jun 22nd, 2025 @ 3:09pm by Senior Chief Petty Officer Dex Ravaro
Edited on on Sun Jun 22nd, 2025 @ 8:38pm
564 words; about a 3 minute read
Mission:
Episode 2 - The Sins of History
Location: Main Mess Hall - Deck 5 - USS Artemis
Timeline: MD012 1600 hrs
The mess hall buzzed in that soft, familiar way that Starfleet crews mastered in deep space. Filled with idle talk, recycled laughter, the clink of utensils on regulation-grade ceramics. It was meant to feel like home. Dex knew better.
He sat alone at a corner table, posture relaxed, shoulders loose, one hand lazily circling the rim of a mug of tarkalean tea. To the casual observer, he was just another enlisted lifer winding down the day. The kind you smiled at in the corridor and forgot the moment you passed him.
That was the beauty of it.
Dex didn’t want to be remembered. He wanted to be underestimated.
He caught a few glances from nearby tables, some crewmen exchanging glances, some making bets over who’d win the next zero-g handball match, others complaining about the food. It was all noise. Predictable, harmless noise. He filtered it, listened past it. His El Aurian senses weren’t just for nostalgia and philosophy — they were for patterns, for weakness, for truth left unsaid.
Then it happened.
A jolt. It was small, sudden. The corner of his table shifted an inch. Dex’s tea sloshed slightly, painting a lazy brown streak across the tray.
Looking up he saw a young officer had bumped into the edge of his table mid-stride. One too eager, too careless. Probably green. Probably overworked. Definitely stupid.
"Ah, sorry Chief—” the ensign mumbled, clearly flustered, already halfway turning toward his own table.
Dex offered a warm, disarming smile. “Don’t give it a second thought, Ensign. Accidents happen.”
He recognised him, Ensign Harlow. Human. Early twenties. Poor posture. Fidgets with his sleeves. Talks too much. Laughs too hard. Probably the sort who thought everyone liked him.
Dex watched him go but not with anger, not even irritation. Just quiet consideration. Something behind his eyes sharpened, even as his mouth kept the smile.
He had made a decision.
He didn’t believe in fate. He believed in correction.
Watching the young man depart Dex thought, “You touched my table. Not out of malice, not even disrespect — just carelessness. But now I’ve seen the gap in you, the blind spot you didn’t even know you had. That’s all it ever takes. One sliver of a moment. And you’ve stepped into my circle.
Most people walk through their lives like they’re invincible. You will die in a place that should be safe. And the last thing you’ll feel is confusion. Not pain. Not fear. Just a question: “Why?”
I’ll be smiling at your memorial.”
Dex resumed sipping his tea. The warmth did nothing for him. He hadn’t tasted anything in years, not really. He only drank it to appear anchored.
He would give it a day. No need to rush. He already knew the layout of Harlow’s quarters. Knew the standard sonic shower model, the diagnostic override codes. He had used this method before… twice. Silent, quick, untraceable. The perfect storm of plausible malfunction and overlooked detail.
Accidents happen.
A Post By
Senior Chief Petty Officer Dex Ravaro
Chief of the Boat, USS Artemis
Starfleet Criminal Investigations Unit
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