From Pandora

Posted on Mon Jul 21st, 2025 @ 5:41pm by Commodore Jacob Kane
Edited on on Mon Jul 21st, 2025 @ 7:06pm

Mission: Aeon's End
Location: USS Athena - Bridge
Timeline: MD-01...?
594 words - 1.2 OF Standard Post Measure

It wasn’t immediately obvious how long they’d been out of it, but the bridge crew seemed to stir within a minute or two of one another. Systems had been shorted out, the viewscreen was a little fuzzy, and there were blocks of blackened carbon scattered all over the place. Kane managed to find his seat while also calling out for a status report.

When one didn’t immediately reach his ears, he checked the status indicators on the armrest of his chair. Many critical systems down; engines offline, shields inoperative, life support just about holding on.

It was only then that he noticed the faint trickle of blood coming from a cut atop his head. One of the advantages of not having any hair was that it was quickly obvious where it was coming from, though he couldn’t do much about it.

“Status report!” he called out a second time, this time louder.

“Primary systems offline, backups…coming up now…” someone replied. He didn’t check who.

“The Planet Killer?” he grunted, wincing at the throbbing pain atop his skull.

“Gone sir.” It was Brewster at the helm. “Along with the moon, the rest of Paladin Squadron…I think we’re in a totally different sector to where we started, Commodore, I’m going to need a minute.”

Kane cursed, trying to ignore the urge to deal with his head injury as he ran through the possibilities.

“Where are we? Give me a location, Ensign.”

“Yes sir. We’ve moved at least twenty light years from our previous location. Trying to ascertain our position but subspace relays don’t seem to be responding to us.”

That didn’t make sense; they weren’t so far out that they couldn’t get at least a simple signal through. Even with main power offline, they’d have been able to link into Starfleet’s network.

“Talk to me, Ensign,” Kane followed-up.

“It…it doesn’t make any sense, Commodore. We’re not getting any of the usual automated traffic and signals. The subspace relay network, it’s just…gone.” Brewster sounded almost hesitant to report it.

Kane had to pull the data up for himself to check. There wasn’t a malfunction: There were no live or active Starfleet signals or bounce-backs from anything; not a relay, Starbase, or planet. Just background cosmic fuzz.

“Engineering. Commander Keating, I need those engines back online.” He turned to speak to Zora but before he could consult with his XO another cry from Ops gave him pause.

“Commodore, there’s a ship dropping out of warp, right on top of us.”

“Friendly?”

“I don’t know, sir. They’re not broadcasting a usual Starfleet signature. And yet…”

Kane looked at the slowly clearing viewscreen as it magnified the other ship: another Prometheus-class starship. But battered and scarred. The upper-port nacelle was blackened with damage. His eyes locked in on the forward hull.

“NCC-80742…” he murmured. “USS…Athena…?”

"We're being hailed, sir." The bridge seemed to fall eerily silent as they waited to see what he would do based on this revelation. Clearing his throat, and despite the blood still trickling from his head, Kane nodded.

"Onscreen."

A fraction later, the image was replaced by what he could have purported to have been his own reflection. The same face staring back at him. But not the same: older, more lines, more grey in the beard. Tired eyes.

"Commodore Kane." It was even his own voice speaking to him. "This is going to require a lot of explaining."