The archaeological expedition, to what was now suspected to be a Vezda spire ruin on Derganix, continued to go fairly well.  The team had discovered a considerable amount of written text, which on an in-depth analysis suggested to be an early written form of the Dergan language.  Further exploration had also uncovered additional areas of the ruin – though the uses of those chambers remained a bit of a mystery.  The big prize, though, had just recently been discovered: the base of the spire itself, including what was believed to be a control chamber that housed a good amount of Vezda technology.

Interestingly, and worryingly, it appeared that some of the consoles in the control room – if one could call them such – may actually still be active, if only on standby mode.  Even so, this did not make them any less dangerous, and so it was that Lieutenant Ophelia Lotharys, the executive officer and chief science officer aboard USS Culver City, personally leading the archaeological team, had instructed her team to exercise extreme caution in their investigations.  So far, no evidence suggested that any Vezda were imprisoned here, but one can never be too careful.

Lotharys herself had returned to the base camp, just outside the ruin, for the moment, but there were several teams active in the structure, their members perhaps more scattered now as it appeared that the site was long abandoned.  A member of one of those teams, a linguist named Xoritsa, had drawn the chance to transcribe – and attempt to translate – the glyphs and cartouches in the control room, in the hope that the amount of data present could help unlock the Vezda’s written language.

Xoritsa had been at work for around an hour or so when it first happened: for a moment, he felt an oppressive pressure on his mind, like he was being watched, but it faded quickly.  He attributed it to the general eerie architecture of the ruin, and thought no more of it.  After all, he was alone in the room, and surely his tricorder would have picked up any biosigns that may have slipped in if he hadn’t seen them.

A short time later, as Xoritsa was examining one of the consoles, it happened again.  This time, though, it was the ghostly echo of a footfall.  The crewman’s head whipped around, scanning the room; all was still.  He looked at his tricorder, scanning for biosigns; while the minerals in the walls of the ruin did limit scanning range, he still would have been able to pick up anything in the room, and nothing was there.  Thus, he resumed his study, though now periodically glancing around the room as though worried someone or something might jump out and scare him.

The third time it happened, Xoritsa heard – or thought he heard, as again he saw no source for it – a voice calling his name, but the tone and timber of the voice were wrong, and it resonated strangely.  “Hello?” he called, anxiety bringing a quaver to his own voice.

In reply, he felt again the sensation of eyes on him, but far closer this time than before.  His head whipped around again, yet his gaze found nothing save the architecture of the room, and his ears heard no sounds save his own rapid breathing and the steady chirps of his tricorder.  Xoritsa took a deep, shaky breath, trying to steel himself so he could return to work; he’d finally been making some progress, and felt close to a breakthrough, if only he could focus.

The sensation faded, and his focus returned to his tricorder and PADD.  The direct translations of the glyphs continued to elude him; what he had noticed was certain commonalities between the placements of some of the controls on this console – and a few others – and the mysterious orb.  Realization hit him like a thunderbolt, and he started making notes as quickly as he could while being as thorough as possible.

Then it happened again, but far worse: from the direction of the door through which he’d entered the room – the very same one that Lotharys’s team had opened to first access the room – he heard a guttural, resonant roar.  His head snapped around, and his eyes widened as he saw what one could only describe as an amalgamation of forms – though in truth all Xoritsa could make out was eyes and teeth and claws – rushing him with deadly intent.  He screamed, dropping the PADD and tricorder and running for his life.

Xoritsa sprinted across the room, the creature following him; he slammed into another closed door, fumbling with panicked fingers for the locking mechanism.  Finding it, he cast the door open wide and fled down the corridor, periodically glancing behind him.  The creature was following, though – for the moment – it appeared as though he might actually outrun the monster.

He should have been looking ahead; rounding a corner, the floor suddenly vanished, and Xoritsa plummeted fifteen or twenty feet to a hard landing that knocked him out for a moment and left him with multiple broken bones.  The pain across his body brought him back to consciousness, and he called out weakly, with lungs still struggling to refill from having the wind knocked from them, “Help!  Help me!”

It occurred to his pain-hazed brain to use his combadge; with difficulty, he tapped it and said “Xoritsa to Lotharys.  H-”  Quick footsteps, from outside of his field of vision, approached him, then he felt a flash of searing pain against his head before all went dark.

Back in the control room, Xoritsa’s PADD and tricorder lay where they had fallen.  Neither were damaged, beyond scuffed housings from their fall, despite the creature chasing him running right over them.  And his flight – frantic and panicked – had not been careful – nor had the charge of his pursuer – yet the only new footprints to be found in the room were his.