Fractures

Posted on Wed Dec 3rd, 2025 @ 11:40pm by Rear Admiral Josua Frost

935 words; about a 5 minute read

=/= SS Starburst – Engineering Section =/=

The engineering bay hummed with the familiar pulse of the EPS network, warm and steady like a heartbeat beneath the deck plating. Jaro Venn was deep inside a tertiary junction panel, tools spread out in a carefully organized arc around him. He didn’t need to see the door to notice someone entering; the shift in vibration along the floor was enough.

He straightened slowly and turned.

Josua Frost stood just inside the threshold.

The man’s posture was relaxed, hands easy at his sides, but there was something unmistakably practiced in the way he held himself — not imposing, only steady, like someone who had spent decades on starships far more structured than this one.

Venn’s voice cut across the room, sharp and clear.

“Stop right there.”

Frost stopped immediately. No questioning glance, no hint of pushing forward.

“I’m not here to interfere,” he said quietly. “Just getting a feel for the ship.”

Venn stayed where he was, one hand resting on the edge of the open conduit.

“This is engineering. You don’t set foot past that line unless I say so.”

Frost gave a small nod. He didn’t move closer. Instead, he reached into his jacket, slowly enough that Venn could follow every motion, and pulled out a compact Starfleet engineering tricorder — state-of-the-art by the look of it.

Venn’s eyes narrowed.

“Starfleet always brings its own equipment,” he muttered.

Frost powered the tricorder with a soft chirp and angled it toward an EPS conduit along the wall, still well behind the line Venn had set. The device ran a passive readout, gathering only the energy bleeding off the casing.

As Frost looked at the display, Venn noticed the way he handled the device — with familiarity that didn’t match someone who claimed to be out of engineering for years.

“There are micro-fractures in the tertiary feed,” Frost said. “Small ones, but they’ll spread under load.”

Venn moved over to the junction and examined it himself. The stress lines were faint, almost invisible without running a fingernail over the plating. He clicked his tongue once under his breath, not pleased to have missed it.

He turned back toward Frost.

“You spotted that fast.”

“I was an engineer before I moved into command,” Frost said. “It’s been a while, but some things stay with you.”

Venn studied him — the way he held himself, the even breath, the stillness. Not arrogance, but a kind of trained control that made it hard to tell where habit ended and intention began.

“You carry yourself like someone used to people stepping aside,” Venn said. “Even when you’re trying not to.”

Before Frost answered, Venn noticed the slight shift in his stance — not defensive, not irritated, simply adjusting. The kind of adjustment people made when they had heard similar remarks before and had learned to endure them without comment.

“Years in service leave habits,” Frost said. “But I’m not here to take over your engine room.”

Venn shifted his weight, unimpressed. “Happens easily enough. Starfleet officers walk into a room and it changes. Doesn’t take a badge for that.”

Frost’s face didn’t reveal much. There was a flicker, hard to read, but not enough to give Venn anything he wanted.

“I stepped off my last ship barely two weeks ago,” Frost said. “I’m still adjusting. Habits don’t disappear overnight.”

The hum of the EPS coils filled the silence between them.

“You say you’re here for Treon. And for that missing officer — John.” Venn watched him carefully. “For someone you call one of your oldest friends… you haven’t seen him in a very long time.”

Venn let the words hang for a moment, then continued with a tone that carried the weight of his own history.

“Where I come from,” he said, “you don’t lose track of the people who shaped you. Not unless something forced the distance. Not unless something broke before either side could fix it.”

“People don’t go looking for someone after all those years unless they’re carrying the weight of whatever drove them apart in the first place.”

Frost’s reply came low, steady:

“Weight has a way of finding you, even if you try to leave it behind.”

Venn didn’t reply.

Frost took a moment before answering the unspoken question that still hung between them.

“Probably you’re right,” he said. “Life pulls people apart more than anyone plans for.”

Frost gave a brief nod.

“I’ll leave you to your work,” he said.

He turned toward the door, his movements steady and respectful of the boundary Venn had kept from the beginning. The panel slid open, warm corridor light spilling across the deck. Frost paused once, then stepped out.

Venn stood for a moment longer with one hand still resting on the conduit, watching the door as it closed. The room felt exactly the same as before, yet his thoughts kept circling the encounter.

He found himself wondering what kind of officer maintained ties strong enough to resume a search after years of silence. He wondered what kind of history stood between Frost and Treon, and why she accepted his presence so easily when she trusted so few.

And as he glanced back at the faint micro-fractures waiting to be repaired, he questioned whether Frost understood the weight of the path he was pulling them toward — and whether any of them truly knew what they were stepping into.

NPC: Jaro Venn
Played by: Josua Frost

and

Josua Frost – Rear Admiral (Inactive), Starfleet

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