Aftermath

Posted on Mon Apr 23rd, 2018 @ 12:49am by Captain Remas McDonald

549 words; about a 3 minute read

Mission: S1:2: Rubicon
Location: Shuttle Bay
Timeline: MD 14, 16.30PM

...and then there was something to see.

With the tired hissing of overstressed components cooling the Zheng He was lowered onto its landing skids within the shuttle bay. Behind them, as the massive space doors began to slide shut, a dull red glow could be seen vanishing in the distance. It was the effect of the black hole behind them slowing light down from its 9 million miles per second joyride through the universe, shifting it down the spectrum until the only dim red light was visible. Soon that cooling coal behind them would turn black, a fitting roadside grave marker for a species who’d ‘Died still angry’ as Clee’San had put it.

The tractor beam shut off, and the Runabout rocked on its struts for a moment before the pressure hatches opened and the survivors of the Long Jump Projects first extragalactic away mission disembarked. Remas watched them go, seeing the medics taking Shaid away, whilst also tending to the other shell-shocked members of the team. The dust, the only remnants of Malignant Matter crystal littered the deck where Rena and Loren had worked to save a life.

Had the death of its main body caused the sudden dissociation? Or had some other decision been made? Remas did not know.

What he did know, by dint of surviving to tell the tale, as they were at warp speed. Clearly, whatever field effect had been playing merry havoc with the laws of physics had died with the Ark. Someone would have contacted him by now if the colony barge and supply freighters had suffered any damage, so all in all this was as close to a successful disaster as he could hope for.

He walked into the cargo bay of the Zheng He and settled his helmet back into the rack, and frowned at the reflection. He turned around and found the odd brass sphere Jansen had been holding on to when he’d come on board. It was about the same size as the compressed data core they had been given, but the blast marks on it suggested it had played target practice with an Expedition Security officers rifle.

He knelt down, and gently prodded it with a finger, rolling it a little to examine the hole melted it its side.

“I know a blue fella who’ll fix you up,” he promised the inanimate machine as his combadge went off. He lifted his wrist and looked at the suit screen there, displaying the message from the combadge: he chuckled.

ZK: You blew up the thing I wanted to look at...AGAIN!

To be fair, before it had been an honest accident, and this time it wasn’t even his fault. He began to compose a brief reply when the decontamination crew waddled onto the runabout in bulky protective gear. Not only poof against biological threats, the protective wear was supposed to be Starfleet’s latest stab at ‘Borg Proofing’ their away teams. Which meant it was rated for self-replicating nanoscale threats, which hopefully the Malignant Matter was.

“Be wary of anything and everything,” Remas commented as he stepped out of their way.

“Yes Sir,” the DeCon crewman said, their voice rendered genderless by the harsh electric buzz of the speaker.

 

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