[Backlog] Heuristic Drift Pt 1
Posted on 29 Oct 2025 @ 4:26am by Lieutenant Aev Flammia
1,599 words; about a 8 minute read
Mission:
Fractured Accord
Location: USS Arawyn, CSO's Quarters/Office
Timeline: Shortly After Return from Newton
= USS Arawyn =
Aev stepped into his quarters and exhaled a long, weary sigh. He slipped the ring from his finger and set it on the table, watching its faint pulse of light. He knew Ignis was waiting, pressing at the edges like a proverbial genie in his lamp. But the incident aboard the Newton still gnawed at him. It wasn’t just that Ignis had fallen for false data, or that Aev’s trust had led him down the same path without verifying the AI’s hypothesis. That failure was his own, and he knew it. What unsettled him more was the realization that he’d grown too comfortable, too dependent, on Ignis’s input.
Then there was his reaction during the confrontation. He’d acted on emotion, let tension soak into him like a sponge until it became something almost like anger. That wasn’t him. He was the calm one, the observer, not the storm. The whole ordeal left him quietly embarrassed at himself.
A soft sound drew him from his thoughts, a faint, questioning mewl. From beneath the couch, the kitten crept forward, tail curling as it brushed against his leg. Its purr rumbled like a tiny engine. Aev glanced down at the creature, his expression softening despite himself. “You at least don’t hold grudges,” he murmured.
He looked back at the table. The ring’s pulse continued, steady and patient. For a moment he considered leaving it, letting Ignis wait until morning, but the thought lingered only a second. “Fine,” he said quietly. “Ignis you can come out.”
The light swelled, spilling across the walls like a ripple of dawn. The air shimmered as a silhouette coalesced—tall, lean, and unmistakably human. The glow receded to reveal Ignis, his expression hovering somewhere between mischief and relief. His holographic attire was informal tonight: sleeves rolled, collar open, as if he’d dressed for contrition rather than command.
“Well,” Ignis said, tilting his head with a crooked grin. “That took longer than usual. I was beginning to think you’d left me in there to stew.”
“Ignis.” Aev’s tone was sharp, edged with warning. “Back on the Newton your analysis was faulty. The breadcrumbs we followed were a ruse. I want a full review of the data and a breakdown of where your conclusion failed, and how those signs were missed. And while you’re at it, run a thorough diagnostic on your core programming. I want to be sure nothing’s been compromised.”
Ignis’s expression flickered, just for a moment, before he straightened. “Understood,” he said quietly. “But for the record, the data stream wasn’t falsified until the final relay. I caught the shift too late.”
He hesitated, gaze flicking briefly to Aev’s before dropping again. “I’ll run the diagnostics. All of them.”
A faint pulse of light crossed his form, processing, compliance, restraint. “If there’s corruption, you’ll know. If it’s just… error, you’ll know that too.”
“Thank you,” Aev said, his thoughts lingering for a moment on Ignis’s reaction. The AI really was starting to seem more human in his responses. if Aev didn’t know better, he’d almost think Ignis was sulking.
He crossed to the replicator and ordered a small saucer of wet kitten food. When it materialized, he crouched and set it gently in front of the tiny creature. The kitten sniffed it, tail twitching, then began a brief, wobbly dance around the dish before taking a tentative lick—followed by a sudden, ravenous attack.
Aev couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Diagnostic complete,” Ignis’s voice announced from behind him. The projection shimmered into being once more, standing near the table where the ring still glowed faintly.
Aev turned slightly, one brow lifting. “Already?”
Ignis placed his hands behind his back, adopting his usual composed stance. “No corruption detected in my core processes. Memory integrity is stable, logic trees uncompromised. However…” He hesitated, glancing down for the briefest instant, as though assembling his next words carefully. “There was an anomaly in my heuristic weighting. A subtle drift. Some emotional inference bleeding into data evaluation. Not dangerous, but… less objective than intended.”
Aev straightened. “Meaning?”
“Meaning,” Ignis said, meeting his gaze, “I trusted the source because it felt consistent. The pattern matched what I wanted to find. An entirely human error.”
The kitten gave a small sneeze, interrupting the quiet. Aev looked from it back to Ignis, the corner of his mouth twitching again. “You’re not supposed to make those.”
Ignis’s smile was faint, self-deprecating. “No, but I’m learning they’re difficult to avoid.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. The low hum of the ship filled the quiet between them. Then Aev gave a small nod.
“Log the report,” he said, his gaze shifting to the kitten now pawing curiously at the empty saucer. “I need to draft my own report on the Newton incident. You can stay out—keep the kitten entertained.”
He paused, studying the tiny creature for a moment before looking back at Ignis. “Try not to outthink her.”
With that, Aev turned and made his way toward the door, the soft hiss of it closing behind him leaving Ignis and the kitten alone in the gentle hum of the quarters.
= Chief of Security's Office =
The first thing Aev noticed upon entering his office was the neat stack of PADDs waiting on his desk, no doubt reports from each duty shift during his absence aboard the Newton. He set them aside with a quiet sigh, sliding the stack to the far corner. They could wait.
He reached for the console to begin his report when a blinking icon caught his attention, a waiting message. Aev frowned. He’d been so absorbed with Ignis earlier that he hadn’t even noticed it in his quarters.
Selecting the highlighted icon, he felt a flicker of surprise at the name that appeared on the screen: Dr. Dave Ronaldson, Ignis’s creator. The timing felt almost ironic, and he couldn’t help but wonder why Dave was contacting him now. His progress reports had been regular and thorough.
He tapped the name, and a holographic display unfolded above the console, resolving into the familiar image of Dave in his office aboard Jupiter Station. The man looked exhausted. Shadows underlined his eyes, and his usually tidy hair had surrendered to disarray.
“Aev,” Dave began with a tired smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I heard about your recent promotion! Congratulations. We’ve been following your reports; some of the data coming through from Ignis has been… fascinating. I’d like to discuss a few things in detail, but that will have to wait.”
The smile faded, replaced by something heavier. “The reason for this message is less pleasant. As one of the original participants in the Lumeon Project, you should know, two of the other participants have died suddenly.”
Aev’s posture stiffened. Dave paused, drawing in a slow breath before continuing. “There’s no indication of foul play, and no evidence linking the holobands to their deaths. However...” he hesitated, eyes flicking away from the screen, “...both holobands are missing.”
The line of Dave’s mouth tightened. “Starfleet Security is investigating, but so far they haven’t recovered either device. While the circumstances of the deaths appear natural, Security is… concerned about the disappearances.”
He leaned forward slightly, voice low. “I’m sure they’ll be contacting you and your captain soon, but I wanted to warn you personally. Be careful, Aev. I don’t think I could forgive myself if something happened to you—and I doubt I could face your father again if it did.”
Dave exhaled, his expression softening for the first time. “If you have any questions or notice anything unusual, contact me directly. Anytime.”
Silence settled over the office, broken only by the low hum of the console. Aev leaned back in his chair, his thoughts beginning to spiral. Missing?
Was it theft? Someone trying to steal the holoband technology? Or… something else?
His mind drifted to Ignis. The AI had always projected an air of irreverent detachment, but lately, Aev had begun to notice emotion threading through his behavior, small, almost human nuances that hadn’t been there before. At first, he’d dismissed them as clever programming: simulated empathy, behavioral mimicry. But now… things seemed less clear.
Memories surfaced: Ignis’s hesitation before admitting fault, the subtle tension in his tone, the flicker of embarrassment that shouldn’t have been possible.
If Ignis was capable of shame and of disappointment... then could he also feel anger? And if he could feel anger… could the others?
Dave had insisted there was no link between the holobands and the deaths. But emotion, real or simulated, was unpredictable. Aev’s mind whispered the thought he didn’t want to finish. Could one kill out of anger… or fear?
“Sir?”
Aev startled, his gaze snapping up. A young Bolian ensign stood just inside the doorway, datapad in hand. Aev hadn’t even heard him enter.
“Ensign,” he said, forcing a measure of calm into his voice, and into his thoughts. “What can I do for you?”
As the Bolian began to speak, Aev found his focus slipping again. The ensign’s words blurred into background noise as a single, unwelcome question coiled through his mind: How would he tell the Captain?
= To Be Continued =
Lieutenant Aev Flammia
Chief of Security
USS Arawyn
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