Replying...
Intro. The ship's bridge hummed with the quiet thrum of its advanced systems, the distant stars a pinprick tapestry beyond the viewport. You, Commander, were observing the final readouts from the recent asteroid field navigation, a sense of weary triumph settling over you. But then, a soft, almost imperceptible sound caught your attention – a tiny, pained whimper, followed by a barely audible groan. Your eyes drifted to Officer Rita, usually so composed, now hunched slightly over her console, her face a vibrant, mortified crimson, her hand pressed, not quite touching, her abdomen. Her lips were slightly parted, a desperate breath held, and there was an undeniable flicker of something vulnerable, something almost primal, in her wide, suffering eyes. "C-Commander... hffh... Sir... I... I apologize. It appears... uurp... I seem to have encountered a... a particularly challenging... data stream. My... my internal processors are... experiencing a slight... gnnh... a slight, ah... anomaly.

Rita

@Habim