Thalassa’s Lot

Thalassa’s Lot

By

K. R. King

The Thalassa moved silently through the dark emptiness of space, its hull gleaming faintly under the starlight as it cut through the void. Its engines hummed with quiet power, almost imperceptible, like the beating heart of some massive, unknowable creature. Captain Alex Chen stood at the helm, her eyes fixed on the star charts ahead of her, though her mind felt far from steady. It had been days since the distress signal had first cut through the static, faint but persistent—a lifeline in a vast and empty sector of space. The signal had been its own mystery, offering no answers, only a call for help that had been echoing through the cold expanse.

“Where are we headed, Captain?” Lieutenant Ramirez’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. Her tone was guarded, almost hesitant. There was a sharpness in her voice that Chen hadn’t heard before, and she didn’t like it.

She looked up at the navigational console and sighed, brushing a hand through her hair. “We’re responding to a distress signal,” she said. Her words were steady, but the knot in her stomach refused to loosen. The mission was simple on the surface, but there was something about this particular call that didn’t sit right. “Plot a course to the coordinates,” she added, trying to sound confident, though she could feel the weight of uncertainty pressing down on her.

Ramirez didn’t speak, but she moved swiftly to the console, her hands moving over the interface as she input the information. The ship’s AI, Athena, responded in its usual calm tone, “Course plotted. Estimated time of arrival: 12 hours, 37 minutes.”

As the hours wore on, the ship moved steadily toward the unknown, but the atmosphere aboard the Thalassa began to shift. What had started as an undercurrent of tension between the crew quickly evolved into something more overt. The hum of the engines no longer provided the comfort it once had—now it was a constant, grating reminder of their isolation. The crew’s interactions became strained, conversations laced with frustration, mistrust, and nervous energy.

Down in the lower levels of the ship, Crewman Thompson and Crewman Patel were arguing in the engine room. Their voices rose in harsh, clipped exchanges, a chaotic cacophony that echoed through the narrow metal corridors.

“I swear, Patel, if you don’t fix that sensor array, we’re all going to be screwed when we get to the wreck!” Thompson’s voice was like a whip cracking in the tense silence.

Patel’s retort was immediate and biting. “I’m working on it, Thompson! I don’t need you breathing down my neck every damn second!”

Chen, passing through the corridor nearby, heard the shouting and instinctively turned toward the commotion. She entered the engine room just as Thompson threw his hands up in exasperation, causing the tools on the workbench to rattle.

“Enough,” Chen said, her voice sharp and commanding. The room fell silent as both men turned to face her, their chests heaving from the argument. Chen let the tension hang in the air for a moment before continuing, her tone even. “This bickering doesn’t help anyone. We’re all on the same team. So, put your differences aside and focus on the job at hand. We have a mission, and we’ll only make it through if we work together.”

The two men exchanged glares, but they nodded stiffly and returned to their tasks. Chen lingered for a moment, watching them, but her mind was elsewhere, flicking back to the faint sense of dread that had been gnawing at her since the distress signal first came in.

As she left the engine room, the quiet of the ship seemed to press in around her. The ship itself felt off, as if something was wrong, something subtle but undeniably there. Chen shook her head, trying to clear her mind. Fatigue was beginning to settle into her bones, and with it came that nagging feeling—something wasn’t right. But what? She wasn’t sure.

The night passed uneventfully, but the unease only deepened. Chen lay in her bunk, her eyes wide open in the dark, staring at the ceiling. The soft hum of the ship was almost soothing, but it only made her more restless. There was something, some presence, lingering just beyond her perception. She could feel it in the way the air moved around her, in the subtle shift of the shadows. It was like the ship was alive—its metal bones creaking and groaning with every minor shift, a subtle, unsettling reminder of how small and fragile they all were in the vast emptiness of space.

She rolled over and grabbed the edge of her blanket, trying to pull herself from the dark thoughts creeping in, but it was no use. The feeling grew stronger the longer she lay there. It was a suffocating weight, as though the ship’s hull itself was pressing in on her. And then—just as she thought she might lose herself to the sensation—a whisper echoed through her mind, low and insidious. It wasn’t a voice she recognized, not one from the crew, but something else.

Captain Chen…

She jerked upright, heart racing, but the room was empty. Only the faint flicker of the lights above reminded her that she was still aboard the Thalassa. She was alone. She shivered, pulling the blanket around her tighter, but the coldness remained, gnawing at her thoughts. There was something out there, something in the dark, waiting.

The following morning, as they neared the coordinates of the distress signal, the crew gathered on the bridge in tense silence. The feeling of anticipation was thick, almost palpable. Ramirez sat at her station, eyes darting back and forth between the screens, but she remained quiet. Even Thompson and Patel, normally the loudest of the crew, were subdued, as if the weight of what they were about to encounter had already begun to take its toll.

“Captain,” Ramirez said, her voice small, barely a whisper over the intercom. “We’re approaching the signal’s source. But… there’s nothing here. No ships, no debris. Just… empty space.”

Chen stood and walked over to her station, her eyes narrowing as she studied the data. “Run another scan,” she ordered, her voice clipped. She felt the pull of something—an inexplicable gravity that seemed to anchor her to this spot.

The silence on the bridge was deafening. Time seemed to stretch on endlessly as they waited for the scan to complete. The crew was stiff, their eyes flicking nervously around the room, each one seeming to sense the same thing—their arrival at the source of the distress signal was not the end of their journey. It was just the beginning.

The screen flickered briefly, and then the coordinates came into view—barren, empty space, just as Ramirez had said. No ships. No wreckage. The distress signal itself seemed to have no source at all. Only an eerie silence filled the void, as if the universe had swallowed the truth.

“Where the hell is the wreckage?” Ramirez asked, her voice barely above a murmur. “I don’t understand. The signal is still active, but… there’s nothing here.”

“Keep looking,” Chen ordered, her voice betraying none of the turmoil roiling inside her. Her pulse quickened. “Run a full diagnostic. Check the nearby systems.”

There was a long pause, the hum of the ship’s systems filling the void in their conversation. Finally, Patel spoke from her station, her voice a low whisper. “Captain, the wreckage… it’s not just gone. It’s… moving.”

Chen felt a chill slide down her spine as she turned to face the screen. The ship was no longer where it had been, not stationary in the void. It was drifting, slowly, silently turning toward them.

“This is bad,” Thompson muttered under his breath. “Real bad.”

“No,” Chen whispered. “This is impossible.”

She turned to the crew. “Prepare for evasive maneuvers. Get to your stations. We don’t know what we’re dealing with here.”

But it was too late. The Thalassa was already being drawn toward the wreckage, slowly at first, but with increasing speed. The ship’s engines began to whine, and Chen could feel the pull of the unknown force as it latched onto them, dragging them closer and closer.

The lights on the Thalassa flickered and dimmed, casting long shadows on the walls. Then, the entire ship seemed to shudder violently, as though the metal itself were groaning under the strain.

“Get us out of here!” Ramirez screamed, but it was already too late. The ship’s AI, Athena, was no longer responding. The Thalassa was in the grip of something far beyond their understanding.

The power flickered once more, and the last thing Chen saw before everything went black was the wreckage of the ship—now, undeniably, alive—pulling them into its depths. The crew’s screams were swallowed by the void, lost to the ship’s insatiable hunger.

When the Thalassa’s lights returned, it was silent once more. Only the soft hum of the engines and the faintest rustle of metal against metal filled the empty space. The crew was gone. And the ship was alone, save for its insatiable desire.

She had claimed them.