Duty at it's finest

Posted on Sat Nov 16th, 2024 @ 2:22am by Lieutenant Atlas Nanting
Edited on on Tue Nov 26th, 2024 @ 12:51am

1,859 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: Anubis Rises
Location: ISS Anubis
Timeline: Current

The hum of construction reverberated through every metal wall and corridor, a constant reminder of the ship’s journey through deep space. Chief Security/Tactical Officer Atlas Nanting walked the familiar path from his quarters to the bridge, boots echoing on the polished floor. Atlas had been in charge of security for the first time aboard the Anubis , and he knew the ship like the back of his hand from schematics. Today, as with every day, he moved with purpose and vigilance.

Atlas was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a sharp gaze and a face etched with faint scars from past battles, both on this ship and others. Nanting wore the black-and-silver uniform of the Empire, a crimson sash over his shoulder that signified his rank and authority. His gauntlet, equipped with a blade, glinted as he walked. This wasn’t just a weapon; it was a reminder to everyone around him of what happened to those who crossed him or dared to challenge his authority.. As he made his rounds, he greeted crewmembers with a nod, his presence a reassuring constant.

Today’s duties started with a quick check on the brig. He met two of his junior officers just outside the cell. They snapped to attention, though one of them couldn’t hide a flicker of unease. Nanting allowed himself a brief, cold smile. Good. He could work with fear.There hadn’t been a prisoner yet, and the cells were empty, their faint hum indicating active containment fields. He inspected each one, ensuring that everything was in perfect working order. Atlas never left anything to chance.

Next, he moved to the weapons locker, where he ran a systems check on the phaser rifles and personal shields. He checked inventory, noting with satisfaction that each item was accounted for. He trusted his team, but he also believed in routine checks—after all, out here in the uncharted reaches of space, they had to be prepared for anything.
He made his way down the main corridor, his boots echoing against the dark metal flooring, his sharp eyes glancing over every crew member he passed. Each of them stiffened, some looking him in the eye with respect or fear, others with barely concealed resentment. As rounded the corner he stopped the security officer assigned to shift commander, Atlas turned to one of his junior officers, Ensign Kallen, a wiry man who rarely spoke more than a word or two at a time. Kallen was useful because he was utterly terrified of Atlas—and for good reason.

“Status report on this morning’s scans,” Nanting said, his voice calm, measured. Every word he spoke was deliberate, like a trap waiting to be sprung.

“Yes, sir.” Kallen straightened, glancing down at his data pad. “All systems report nominal just unusual activity in the cargo hold” His voice trailed off, nervous. “Carry on” Atlas explained watching the security officer disappear out of sight

He reached the cargo bay, where several crew members were unloading supplies from the latest station stop. The clanking of crates and hum of hover-lifters filled the air. Nanting checked the manifest on his wrist display: standard rations, spare parts, and a crate of minerals that would be used in shield repair. Everything was accounted for, just as he expected, but Atlas always double-checked.

“Anything unusual?” He asked Crewman Novak, who was supervising the unloading.

“No, sir,” Novak replied, glancing over the crates. “Everything’s as listed.”

“Good.” He patted his shoulder and continued on.

The air in the corridor outside the cargo bay felt tense as he passed, like a drawn bowstring ready to snap. The crew was alert and disciplined, but there was always someone on edge—someone whose guilt or secrets showed in the subtle lines of their face, the twitch of a hand, or the way they walked a little too quickly past him. Today, he had his eye on Ensign Volar, a young, nervous engineer who’d been spending an unusual amount of time in the lower decks. Atlas had noticed, and he was about to find out why.

He stopped in front of Volar’s workstation, watching the ensign jump as Atlas’ shadow fell over him.

“Ensign Volar,” Nanting said, his voice a low rumble, “you’ve been assigned to Engineering, yet I hear you’ve been spending your free time wandering the cargo holds. Why?”

Volar’s face went pale. He fumbled for words. “I...I’ve been working on repairs, sir”. There Nanting leaned in, close enough that Volar could smell the faint scent of metal and leather that seemed to cling to him. “Power fluctuations? Funny. None of that is in your daily report logs.”
Volar swallowed, and Atlas could almost hear the frantic calculations going on behind his wide eyes. Lies and excuses were the bread and butter of crew members trying to survive in the Empire, but Atlas had no patience for either.

“You know,” Nanting began casually, “I once knew a crewman who spent time ‘working’ in places he wasn’t assigned. Said he was investigating minor issues, just like you.” He let the silence hang for a moment. “Turns out he was passing information to a resistance cell. He paid for his… curiosity.”

Volar’s eyes went wide. “I’m no traitor, sir. I swear!”
“Next time be careful otherwise punishment detail for you “ Nanting snapped turning and continued on down the corridor

It was midday and the junior crew quarters were next. Nanting’s rounds here were less about catching contraband and more about maintaining control but he preferred surprise inspections, the kind that put everyone on edge. Fear was the most effective deterrent to rebellion. Atlas knew the next shift was getting on duty and was keen to surprise them. As he entered, the enlisted crew scurried around trying to get to their bunks and snapped to attention one by one, their eyes avoiding him as if looking at him too long might provoke his wrath.

He moved slowly down the line of bunks, scanning each one with a handheld device. He walked down the line, studying each of them with a slow, assessing look. A few shifted nervously; one or two even had the gall to stare him down. But he met each gaze without a hint of expression, filing away the faces of anyone who didn’t look sufficiently intimidated. He had decided to do a contraband inspection knowing the junior crew would take advantage of the construction crew to acquire all kinds of illegal or banned contents onto the ship.
“Ensign Ryker,” he said, his tone as sharp as a blade. “You were spotted last night exchanging items with the construction crew, and yet I see evidence that you were supposed to be at your post yet you left to converse with the station cremember. Care to explain?”
Ryker, a wiry young officer with hollow cheeks and dark eyes, swallowed hard. “Uh…sir, I was just—"

“Stow it,” Atlas cut him off. “The Empire has no use for liars. I’ll be checking the logs, and if I see one discrepancy, I’ll have you in the brig faster than you can blink.”

Ryker nodded, his face pale. Atlas allowed himself a faint smirk before moving on.

After a moment, he singled out a young ensign—Malrik, she recalled, a nervous man in the bunk to the right who had always seemed a bit too skittish for his liking. “Ensign Malrik,” he said, his voice cold and sharp, “step forward.”

Malrik hesitated but obeyed, his eyes darting between her and his bunk. That fleeting glance was all the confirmation he needed.
“You’ve been acting jumpy, Ensign,” he continued, circling him like a predator sizing up its prey. “Perhaps you’d like to explain why?”
“I—I don’t know what you mean, sir,” Malrik stammered, his hands trembling at his sides.

As Nanting approached Malrik’s bunk, the crewman’s trembling grew worse. “I see you still seem nervous around me,” Atlas scowled. Malrik shook his head violently. “N-no, sir. Room inspections always make me nervous being around a new head of department is always nerve wracking trying to impress.” Atlas glared at the ensign and stepped back into the corridor completing his inspections.

Nanting’s final stop was Engineering. The beating heart of the Anubis was the one area of the ship he inspected personally on every round. Sabotage here could mean disaster.

The engineers avoided his gaze as he entered, their movements deliberate and overly cautious. Atlas watched them work for a few moments before selecting a random console for inspection.
“Technician Faris,” he called, gesturing to the nearest crew member. “What’s this discrepancy in the plasma output logs?”
Faris stumbled over his words, his hands trembling. “J-just a minor fluctuation, sir. I-it’s within operational limits.”
“Operational limits aren’t good enough,” Atlas snapped. “This ship demands perfection. If I find you’ve been negligent, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

Faris nodded frantically, muttering assurances as Nanting scanned the console. Finding nothing out of place, he made a mental note to keep an eye on Faris in the future. Scanning around for a few minutes more returned to the corridor finding nothing unusual but noted crew seemed overly on edge around the new security chief like he displayed a menacing aura about himself that put crew on edge and scared of him in a way that made Atlas feel like a god aboard the Anubis carrying all that power and control over everyones lives, one step and he was on them like a hawk carting them off to unknown certainty.

Returning to the security office, Atlas reviewed the reports from his sweep. The contraband check, the suspicious crew, and the nervous engineer were all pieces of a larger puzzle. On an Imperial ship, power struggles and treachery were as constant as the stars.

Nanting leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. Every arrest, every piece of contraband uncovered, every nervous glance from a crew member—they were all tools for consolidating his authority. He thrived on the fear he instilled, knowing it was the only thing keeping the Anubis and its crew in line
.
Nanting’s desk was a fortress of steel and embedded consoles, cluttered with data pads detailing the Dominion’s security matters. Surveillance reports, disciplinary records, interrogation transcripts—every detail of life aboard the ship passed through his hands. His office was the nerve centre of fear, and Atlas wielded it like a weapon.

He picked up the can of Renao cola, a rare indulgence once in a while. Even in the mirror universe, small luxuries were a way to assert dominance. The sweet taste of the drink reminded him of home, it was a reminder to the crew that Atlas had access to things they didn’t—and couldn’t.

In the mirror universe, survival wasn’t guaranteed—it was earned through vigilance, ruthlessness, and an unyielding will. And Nanting intended to survive for a very long time.

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