Liin Terallo
Character
The message reached her through indirect channels. It had not been sent to her name. Not directly. It had been passed, filtered, repeated with slight variations until it settled into something that resembled intent rather than urgency. That alone made it worth reading. Most people did not know how to describe what they were experiencing. This one had tried:
There is a place where the Force does not answer. Not in the way of suppression. Not resistance. Not absence created by known biological interference. There is simply...nothing. No current. No impression. No reflection.
I reached, and there was no indication that anything had ever been there to reach toward. I withdrew, and there was no sense that anything had been disturbed.
It is not silence. Silence implies the possibility of sound. This does not.
Liin read the message twice. Then a third time, slower. Her gaze remained on the final lines long after she had committed them to memory. Not for their wording, but for their structure. The attempt to define something that resisted definition. Most would have dismissed it. Misinterpretation. Fatigue. Overextension of perception. That would have been the simplest explanation. It was also the least interesting.
She did not respond immediately. Instead, she retrieved a small case from where it had been stored; unmarked, sealed, and undisturbed for longer than she cared to measure. Inside, suspended in controlled containment, rested samples that had once defined the trajectory of her work. Biomolecular matrices. Stabilized. Inert. Or so they were meant to be.
Her fingers hovered briefly above the casing before she withdrew her hand. This was not that. Not exactly. But the description….It aligned too closely with the final stage of degradation her serum had exhibited. Not at it's peak. Not during it's function. But at the end. When the connection - artificial or otherwise - did not weaken….It simply ceased. Cleanly. Completely. As though it had never been present to begin with.
Liin closed the case. She did not return it to storage.
The coordinates provided were imprecise. Understandably so. Phenomena like this were rarely cooperative with mapping. Still, a region had been identified. Narrowed by repeated accounts, each one uncertain, each one consistent in the only way that mattered.
Those who entered described the same thing. Those who left did not remain unchanged.
Liin sent a response to the sender at last. It was brief. Direct. And without reassurance:
Your description is sufficient. Transmit all recorded coordinates and environmental data. Do not re-enter the affected area. I will assess.
If others have experienced this, they should be informed. Not warned, but informed. There is a distinction.
The message was sent. Whether it would be followed was….variable.
Liin rose then, her attention already shifting ahead; past the message, past the unknown sender, toward the shape of the problem itself. Not a disturbance. Not an inversion. But an absence. And absences, in her experience, were rarely empty.
Before long, Liin had made her way to the co-ordinates, with her equipment on hand. The approach to the infected area offered no distinction. Wind moved as it always did, shaping the sand in long, familiar lines. The terrain did not change. There was no marker, no boundary to cross; nothing to indicate that the space ahead was anything other than an extension of what came before.
And yet, as Liin stepped forward, something in the world failed to answer. Not silence. Not resistance. Simply….nothing.
So she slowed. Then stopped. It was not the absence that held her attention, but the figure ahead. Standing within it.
There is a place where the Force does not answer. Not in the way of suppression. Not resistance. Not absence created by known biological interference. There is simply...nothing. No current. No impression. No reflection.
I reached, and there was no indication that anything had ever been there to reach toward. I withdrew, and there was no sense that anything had been disturbed.
It is not silence. Silence implies the possibility of sound. This does not.
Liin read the message twice. Then a third time, slower. Her gaze remained on the final lines long after she had committed them to memory. Not for their wording, but for their structure. The attempt to define something that resisted definition. Most would have dismissed it. Misinterpretation. Fatigue. Overextension of perception. That would have been the simplest explanation. It was also the least interesting.
She did not respond immediately. Instead, she retrieved a small case from where it had been stored; unmarked, sealed, and undisturbed for longer than she cared to measure. Inside, suspended in controlled containment, rested samples that had once defined the trajectory of her work. Biomolecular matrices. Stabilized. Inert. Or so they were meant to be.
Her fingers hovered briefly above the casing before she withdrew her hand. This was not that. Not exactly. But the description….It aligned too closely with the final stage of degradation her serum had exhibited. Not at it's peak. Not during it's function. But at the end. When the connection - artificial or otherwise - did not weaken….It simply ceased. Cleanly. Completely. As though it had never been present to begin with.
Liin closed the case. She did not return it to storage.
The coordinates provided were imprecise. Understandably so. Phenomena like this were rarely cooperative with mapping. Still, a region had been identified. Narrowed by repeated accounts, each one uncertain, each one consistent in the only way that mattered.
Those who entered described the same thing. Those who left did not remain unchanged.
Liin sent a response to the sender at last. It was brief. Direct. And without reassurance:
Your description is sufficient. Transmit all recorded coordinates and environmental data. Do not re-enter the affected area. I will assess.
If others have experienced this, they should be informed. Not warned, but informed. There is a distinction.
The message was sent. Whether it would be followed was….variable.
Liin rose then, her attention already shifting ahead; past the message, past the unknown sender, toward the shape of the problem itself. Not a disturbance. Not an inversion. But an absence. And absences, in her experience, were rarely empty.
Before long, Liin had made her way to the co-ordinates, with her equipment on hand. The approach to the infected area offered no distinction. Wind moved as it always did, shaping the sand in long, familiar lines. The terrain did not change. There was no marker, no boundary to cross; nothing to indicate that the space ahead was anything other than an extension of what came before.
And yet, as Liin stepped forward, something in the world failed to answer. Not silence. Not resistance. Simply….nothing.
So she slowed. Then stopped. It was not the absence that held her attention, but the figure ahead. Standing within it.