The Cold

Posted on Thu Sep 3rd, 2020 @ 8:12pm by Captain Remas McDonald

872 words; about a 4 minute read

Mission: S2:1: Good Will Gunboat Tour
Location: Trans Resshixs Orbital Injection
Timeline: MD27 11.34

Brynhild always put on a good face. She hadn't really ever needed to learn or be taught her stoicism, it had just been...some sort of genetic component as she aged. It worked well for her as a pilot, keeping her cool under any circumstances and being able to accept any mission without emotional appeals to her captains that would inevitably end with her reputation diminished while she still followed orders.

She had been part of the discussion, agreed to the idea, overseen the retrofitting, gotten in the thing, and been launched from the Traveller...all before she let herself feel much of anything about it all.

I can't feel my senses,
I just feel the cold.
All colors seem to fade away.
I can't reach my soul.

Of course, the first thought was, "What the hell am I doing?" In reality, of course she knew what...but there was that more primitive part of her brain that poked her fear. That fear then began second-guessing every decision she'd made since being assigned to the Traveller...then since joining Starfleet...then since reaching adolescence...and then since, well, she was born. After that--she had fifteen hours to do this--she began questioning all of her parents' decisions as well.

What else was she going to do?

I would stop running, if I knew there was a chance.
It tears me apart to sacrifice it all, but I'm forced to let go.

After her first hour, that was when she began to contemplate the actual likelihood that this mission would kill her. She ran the numbers, but she didn't really know all the numbers. There hadn't been as much time as one would have preferred to sort out all the possibilities. All of the outcomes that might be. How many ways she might die...

Tell me I'm frozen, but what can I do?
Can't tell the reasons, I did it for you.
When lies turn into truth, I sacrificed for you.
You say that I'm frozen, but what can I do?

I can feel your sorrow... (I'll sacrifice.)

As another hour crept by--or was it two?--she continued to check her incredibly minimal sensors to check that she was at least cruising along on her original trajectory and was heading the right way. It was about as much as she could check, but it was something to do. It didn't take up very much time, so she had to fill the rest of the time with other thoughts. Fifteen hour flight. She tried to remember how long all four operas in the Ring Cycle took. Her parents had met at one such performance.

It's why she was named Brynhild.

You won't forgive me,
but I know you'll be all right.
It tears me apart that you will never know, but I have to let go.

She hoped she survived. Her parents had been terrified of her dying since she entered Starfleet, and they'd doubled down on the nerves once she began a pilot.

Tell me I'm frozen...

A suit designed by the Starfleet Aerospace Corps did a pretty good job of regulating all functions for a pilot. Some of it ended up being in the very barest minimums--to preserve power and to reduce bulk--because the suit still somewhat relied on the fighter craft's internal systems to help out. Unfortunately, that wasn't really a backup that she had right now. Both were the barest minimums and damn, if it wasn't getting cold.

Everything will slip away.
Shattered pieces will remain,
When memories fade into emptiness.
Only time will tell its tale,
If it all has been in vain...

Somewhere amid the blank, endless hours, Brynna had fallen asleep. Or unconscious. Either way, there was suddenly a lot less time left according to the HUD inside her suit helmet. After a moment, she decided it had been sleep, because she could remember dreaming. Unfortunately, it was dreams of the people attached to the names tattooed all over her body, because that was exactly what you needed to think about when in a flying brick like this.

Dead people.

On the upside? She had yet to die herself.

I can't feel my senses...
I just feel the cold...
Frozen...

The 'ship' was losing its momentum and that was the point when "can't get any worse" got worse without getting dead. There was pretty much next-to-nothing in this tin can to make it any easier on her. Again, bare minimum. It kept her alive but oh-so-uncomfortable. Eventually--mercifully...ish--she came on her target. One thing for this rubber-band-shot, but she was hitting right where she needed to be and was gliding into the atmosphere...

Brynhild was glad for this much and now that she was here, at least she had something to do: her duty.

She began transmitting the necessary data back to the Traveller across the expanse she'd just crossed, but the flow of information certainly had an easier journey back than she'd had here.

That was the moment when, however, her limited sensors informed her of one miserable fact:

The Reka were here.

But what can I do?
Frozen...

 

RSS Feed