These Are The Hell My Whales

Posted on Wed Apr 16th, 2025 @ 5:00am by Lieutenant Crisanto Venchi

788 words; about a 4 minute read

Mission: Broken Mirror
Location: USS Calypso | Deck 16 | Cetacean Operations Labratory 1

The soft splash of water echoed in the spacious chamber as Lieutenant Crisanto Venchi descended the short ramp into Cetacean Operations Lab 1. Fluorescent aquamarine light shimmered along the transparent walls of the tank, casting slow-moving ripples that danced across the black-and-silver Starfleet panels. The lab's temperature was warm, humid, and briny. It was a stark contrast to the cool sterility of the upper decks. Here, the rhythm was slower, more primal, as if the ocean itself had carved out a sanctuary in the heart of a starship.

Dressed in a sleek black wetsuit with red trim hugging his lean frame, Crisanto’s breath fogged slightly as he stepped closer to the tank. His bare feet padded softly on the metal grate platform. The ship's computer played an ambient medley of Earth-originated whale songs over hidden speakers that kept it low, melodic, and ancient, echoing with a reverence time had not diminished.

Two massive baleen whales, Navigator Kiio and Navigator Salcheen. They glided through the blue hued water, their mottled grey bodies moving with gentle graceful power. They were descendants of Earth's humpbacks and genetically adapted for deep space sensory work, now served as sentient navigators on some of the Federation's most ambitious exploratory vessels.

“Computer,” Crisanto said softly, stepping to the edge, “Log interaction session: Lieutenant Crisanto Venchi, initiating social rapport building protocol with Cetacean Operations personnel.”

He slowly descended the ladder into the water, each step a small declaration of intent. He’d requested this time, not as duty, but as something more sacred. To him, building trust with the cetacean navigators wasn’t just a professional imperative; it was a personal journey. Empathy was his gift. Connection was his compass and together they were something to be shared.

Immersed in the water and now waist deep, Crisanto held still as Kiio, the elder of the two, approached with a slow, majestic stroke. The whale’s great eye regarded him, intelligent and curious. Crisanto bowed his head gently in greeting, then extended both arms out wide in a peaceful gesture.

Salcheen, younger and more playful, let out a short, bubbling chirrup that tickled the surface with concentric waves. The sounds of the recorded whale song seemed to slow and harmonize with the duo’s live replies.

Crisanto closed his eyes for a moment, then moved closer. His hand skimmed the water, sending ripples that danced between them. Kiio finally leaned in, and Crisanto pressed his forehead gently against the whale’s great head, just above the eye ridge. For several seconds, he remained still, simply breathing, listening, feeling. This was an exchange.

Emotion passed through him like a current. Calm. Curiosity. Peace. Beneath that, the trace of something else...recognition. He did not need his empathic senses to know this was the beginning of a bond, and if he continued with this in the future as a regular visit, that the bond would strengthen.

“I’m honored,” Crisanto whispered, his breath stirring bubbles. His mind calm. He breathed steadily.

A low hum vibrated through the water from Kiio’s vocal sacs. A soft rumble of approval. Salcheen circled once and brushed gently against Crisanto’s side, playful and inviting.

He let himself laugh, the sound echoing oddly in the chamber. “I see you’re the extrovert" Crisanto said as he reached out and gently brushed his hand against the creature.

For just over an hour, he stayed with them casually floating, communicating in slow, intentional movements, tone, and with emotion. He did not rush experience, did not force the connection, nor coerce them into interacting with him. These were not tools or instruments or servents. They were crewmates, elders of a different culture, vital to the mission of the Calypso and other Federation starships, the friends of many sailors and explorers for centuries.

When the session came to a close, Crisanto exited the water slowly, glancing back as Kiio let out a soft trill that mimicked the recorded song still playing. Salcheen nudged the surface with a playful spray before diving once more into the tank’s deeper chamber. He placed his hand against the glass structure and Kilo pressed their head against it. I know my new friend thought Crisanto.

“Computer,” he said, pulling a towel around his shoulders. “End interaction log. Mark as positive first contact.” If only all first contact missions went like this one thought the lieutenant.

He paused, taking one last look.

“And... tag the session as ‘recurring.’”

As the doors hissed open to let him out, he whispered softly, “See you both again soon" he added before parting ways with the two cetacean navigators. This would only be the first of many visits. Second contact was inevitable.

 

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