Originally posted to AO3. Link
Fall From Grace
Chapter 1
The shrill beeping burrowed into Mariner’s skull like a damn ceti eel. Her ears were already ringing when consciousness returned to her, so she did not appreciate whatever dumb ass indicator chose to make her morning hangover worse than it already was. She hadn’t even opened her eyes yet and already she was wishing she could go back to sleep as to not feel like her head was in a compression field.
At least the previous night must have been fun. Too bad she couldn’t remember a damn thing. Waking up to the world spinning with ungodly headaches made worse by any noises above a whisper, usually came with the upside of good memories. But no matter how much she wracked her brain, Mariner could not recall what festivities led to her current hangover.
Like any good hangover experience, Mariner vowed to never drink again before she even began contemplating the arduous task of opening her eyes. She was not looking forward to the hallway lights. That first contact wasn’t going to be fun.
As she continued to wake up she noticed something digging into her shoulders. She went to gab it, only to feel a force pulling her arms straight out in front of her. Something was wrong.
Forcing her eyes open, Mariner winced with pain at the searing light. Taking a deep breath, she tried again. As her vision became somewhat clear so did the realization that she was not in her bunk. She was staring at a row of four empty seats, each equipped with a U-shaped solid over-the-shoulder harness.
Reality hit her like the cold of space. She was in an escape pod.
Her head cocked at the strange sight of her arms held straight out despite making no effort. Then a small red sphere appeared from just above her vision before shooting forward past her hands, and impacting the seat across from her. Blood. It was a drop of blood coming from somewhere on her head.
None of this made any sense. Why would blood be dripping forward? Unless… The escape pod was on its side, and she was hanging from what was the new ceiling.
As her brain fully came online, Mariner had taken stock of her situation. This was a standard escape pod, of which the model number escaped her. But that mattered little. There’d been more than enough life pod drills for Mariner to recognize the style used on the Cali class. They were square in shape with four seats on each wall. The interior corners were flattened off to allow for two supply cabinets, a fold down toilet, and the main hatch.
In her case, all the seats save hers were empty. Wherever she was, she was alone.
Mariner was strapped into the seat directly to the right of the hatch. It was the exact opposite seat the first person in an escape pod was supposed to take. Starfleet regulations called for the filling of escape pods starting farthest from the entrance and working towards the door. This was to allow for smoother and faster loading. Only someone ill concerned with their crewmates would grab the first seat in an otherwise empty escape pod.
A sickening thought formed in the back of her mind.
But there wasn’t time for that now. Starfleet regulations are clear. In a survival situation, an officer’s first priority was to assess their situation and make themselves and any other personnel safe. Tapping her armrest triggered a screen to pop up. Before the status display flicked to life, Mariner caught her own reflection, revealing a vertical gash in the center of her forehead.
A wild party and a hangover were seeming less likely by the second.
The display revealed another problem. Or more accurately, what it didn’t reveal was a problem. All she could make out was an unfocused haze. No amount of squinting and forcing her eyes to focus could make the display clear enough to make out.
“Shit,” Mariner muttered.
She’d been around the galaxy enough to recognize a concussion. Moderate or severe if she had to guess. There was no point in trying to remember what led her to this situation, those memories were gone forever. A concussion meant a chunk of her short-term memory was simply not saved to long-term. The best clue to understanding her predicament simply didn’t stick around.
No point in dwelling on what couldn’t be changed, she still had to make sure she wasn’t in any immediate danger. Thankfully Federation systems are designed to be accessible.
“Computer,” Mariner called out, “status report.”
Mariner winced at the responding beep before the feminine computer voice filled the pod. “Oxygen levels dropping below optimal range. Atmospheric regulators are off-line. Artificial gravity is off-line. Long-range distress beacon is offline, unable to establish connection to Federation communications network. Craft is currently in sub-optimal landing position.”
“No shit.” Mariner rolled her eyes. Of course all the critical systems were fucked up. Why would it be any other way?
The row of seats across from her stared back ominously. At some point she’d have to undo her restraints and drop down to the new ‘floor.’ That was liable to be painful if she didn’t do it right.
“Computer,” Mariner called out, “why was this escape pod launched?”
“Occupied evacuation craft was jettisoned in response to an imminent warp core breach.”
Her chest tightened with dread. No. She shook her head. Just because the computer thought the warp core was about to breach, didn’t mean it actually did. Close calls with warp cores happen every day. Those things are practically made to explode. Billups probably reversed it at the last moment, meaning her mom and the rest of the crew were looking for her. Getting booted into space in an escape pod unnecessarily was something she’d never live down. They were probably sitting on the ship, laughing at her misfortune.
“Where the hell are we?” Mariner asked.
“Location unknown.”
Mariner rolled her eyes. Of course things couldn’t be simple. “What’s it like outside? Any reason I can’t just pop the hatch and get some fresh air?”
“Action not advised. Detecting atmospheric pressure of five-hundred twenty-two pascals. Atmospheric composition consisting of twenty-four percent carbon dioxide, fourteen percent sulfur dioxide-”
“-Ya I get it,” Mariner cut in. “Opening a window is a bad idea.” Figures she’d crash on an unknown planet with what would charitably be called an atmosphere. No need to freak out though, the ship had to be nearby. All she needed to do was just sit tight and wait. “Computer, locate the U.S.S Cerritos.”
“Unable to locate vessel.”
Mariner tried to calm her breathing and rising heart rate. Not detecting them didn’t mean anything. There could be a million reasons the escape pod couldn’t find the ship.
“Computer, scan for any Starfleet vessels in range.”
“Unable to comply. Interference is preventing long range active scanning.”
“What kind of interference?”
“Detecting ionizing radiation consistent with matter-antimatter reactions.”
That was the news she didn’t want to hear. She started to feel sick, whether from the concussion or the news, she wasn’t sure. To fully block active sensors and long range communications, a large amount of antimatter had to detonate. Like a starship’s warp core breaching.
The fifteen empty seats stared back at her. Each was one less spot for a crewmate, for her friends.
She squeezed her eyes shut to block out the ghosts. “Computer, do you detect any other escape pods?”
“Negative.”
Her heart sank. It was unlikely that other pods would land far enough away that they’d be out of range, even with the interference. By design, pods were supposed to automatically group up. Unlikely though, didn’t mean impossible. Maybe another pod landed safely with a damaged transponder or something like that. She just had to hope she wasn’t the only one who made it, wasn’t the only one who fled.
The empty seats were still waiting for her when she opened her eyes. What happened? Why did she leave all of them to die? Her mom, Boimler, Rutherford, Tendi, even Ransom, were they all dead? When they needed her, did she run away and make for the first escape pod, leaving them all to die?
She was supposed to be the bad ass, taking charge because no one else could. She always assumed she’d be the one to parish protecting her crew and her friends. But was she wrong? When it came down to it, had she really just been a coward this whole time?
Visions of her friends dying as she ran away, replayed in her mind. Boimler, Tendi, and Rutherford, all crying out for her help as she ran, leaving them to their fates, their bodies consumed by fire as the Cerritos was torn apart around them.
Her face tensed as tears threatened to pour down her face. Were they all dead because she failed them?
Focus, she needed to focus on the problems she could solve. It was just hard to focus. Simultaneously her head wanted to explode and implode, while a haze covered her vision. If T’Ana were here she’d insult her before slapping her with a hypospray and tossing her on bedrest. Those biobeds sure would be nice. Way more comfortable than hanging face first from a tipped over seat.
Focus. Mariner internally chastised herself. She had to focus on the problem. What did the computer tell her? Fuck it was hard to remember. Gravity? Yes, the gravity wasn’t working. And there was something about communications, and maybe the distress beacon. Maybe? Then there was… Maybe air. Yes, air would make sense. That’s what she should start with. A space that large probably afforded only half a day of usable air at most. Not a great situation to be in.
“Computer, what is wrong with the air shit?”
“Atmospheric regulators are reporting critical error in control circuits.”
That wasn’t exactly helpful. “Computer, where are the control circuits?”
“Atmospheric regulator control circuits are located behind panel 3-A.”
Each seat had a corresponding panel above and behind it. Fighting past the pain and fog, Mariner eventually found the one she was looking for, directly across from her. Or more accurately, below her.
“Fuck.”
All she had to do was unlatch herself from the seat, then climb down the tipped over escape pod. All while nursing a severe concussion. Of course this shit had to be more complicated.
Mariner braced her feet against the foot support and gripped the solid harness with her right hand. Reaching over her head, she grabbed the release, and pulled it. With a click, the restraint came loose. Without support, she dropped. Her unusually sluggish arm couldn’t grab hold as her upper body lurched forward causing her feet to slip out of their restraints. With her left hand still holding onto the restraints, Mariner swung forward, twisting and wrenching her arm. Pain shot through her shoulder as her grip failed.
Mariner plummeted to the row of seats below.
She slammed somewhat feet first into the back of a seat before crumpling against the panels she needed to access. Something audibly cracked. Hopefully whatever it was didn’t belong to her. More dull pain rippled through her body. The pod shifted. Wherever the pod had landed, it was not overly stable.
“Success,” Mariner proclaimed to no one in particular.
She lay there, sprawled against the access panels while the world stopped spinning. What was she doing? Right, the air.
Groaning, Mariner rolled over. She reached over the chairs and fumbled at the storage drawers that would’ve been under the seats had the escape pod landed right side up. After a few tries she found a set of tools and a med kit. The med kid would have to wait though; she had more important things to worry about.
After prying off the access panel she got a look at the offending circuitry. The ungodly number of blinking lights were not doing her headache and unfocused vision any favors.
It would’ve been nice to have a hand with it, maybe someone with a working pair of eyes. But like with everything else, she was on her own. She was always on her own. Though one bright spot was she didn’t have to worry about anyone else for once. Even when she had other people around, like her friends, it was still on her alone to solve the problems and save everybody.
She opened up her tool case and forced her eyes to focus as much as she could. All she could do at that point was work the problem. So she did her best to recall her repair training and went to work.
The next few hours dragged on in a haze of testing, prodding, and bypassing. Trying to repair and force past mental fog at the same time definitely made the work slower. More than once she had to go back and undo previous work that she’d done incorrectly or without considering her next step.
By the time the air circulation fans kicked on, Mariner was physically and mentally exhausted. So badly she wanted to close her eyes and rest. But there was so much more to do. The distress beacon was still offline. That had to be active if anyone were to come looking for her.
Why didn’t she work on that first? She had hours of air left before she even started work on the life support. Someone could’ve already flown by and missed her while she was working on the air. She chastised herself for her priorities. She should’ve called for help first. Fixing that crap might not have been necessary if she’d just gotten the distress beacon up first.
Fuck it was difficult to think clearly.
She needed to find out what was wrong with the distress beacon. She refused to slowly starve to death, trapped in a box on some Q forsaken planet. She was not going to die. Not like… Her mom, like Boimler or Rutherford or Tendi.
The pit in her stomach had grown into swirling black hole. Nearly everyone she cared about was probably dead. No one was coming to help her. She was on her own.
Naturally access to the distress beacon systems were next to the main hatch, a hatch which was now the upper corner of her sideways ship. With no other options, she got to work scaling the row of seats that made up the wall.
The climb was slow. With her mind sluggish and eyes unfocused, Mariner had to take her time and think about every reach and every push. If her mind wandered she as likely to fall, not something she hand any desire to experience again.
Once she reached the top, she stood precariously on an armrest while bracing her arm against the seat she woke up in. From that position she finally got a look through the hatch’s window. Before her was a barren desert of brown rocks and sand. Spires of sharp rocks and steep hills dominated the landscape. Her view was narrow, but enough of the unforgiving world was visible to hammer home how truly alone she was.
The surface was illuminated in the soft red glow of back lit clouds. Beneath the solid canopy of oppressive rust colored clouds, it was impossible to locate the planet’s star. Many streaks of burning debris pierced the cloud cover, raining down across the landscape.
Her heart sank. It was one thing to hear that the warp core might have breached, but to see the wreckage rain down around her, it sealed the Cerritos’s fate.
Tearing her eyes away, she tried to put her focus back on the work. She refused to die. That planet was not going to be her grave.
She pulled open the access panel which was now high on the wall. It was hard to make out, but the lack of indicator lights told her there must’ve been some kind of power failure, possibly a severed conduit somewhere. She just needed to figure… To figure out… Something.
Fuck she wanted to close her eyes and rest. Thanks to the annoying head injury, memories of how long she’d been awake were lost. Plenty of experience informed her that unconsciousness was not the same as sleep. Her brain shut down for some indeterminate time, but her body still needed rest.
“No,” she muttered. Now was not the time. She had to figure some way to get the damn beacon online. Just… how? The answer was there, she could feel it. She knew this, but the answer was just beyond her mind’s reach. If she could maybe close her eyes for a moment…
Her foot slipped off the arm rest. She fell backwards, arms flailing as she grabbed only air.
Mariner’s back crashed into the seat backs which now lay along the floor. A flash of pain shot through her body. Thin cushioning did little to lessen the impact.
“Fuck, shit.” She rolled over and pulled herself to her feet. Mariner braced herself against the wall below the panel. “Dammit.” She didn’t even have the energy to be angry anymore. The cool metal soothed the ever present pain as she pressed her forehead against the wall.
The daunting tasks were weighing on her. She might die here. This escape pod might really be her tomb. Dread was all around her. Every muscle wanted to give up and collapse her into a pile. Laying down and accepting the inevitable, maybe there was merit to that. Why struggle and hurt herself more just to prolong the slow lonely death before her?
What was the point of any of this? Mariner closed her eyes. She couldn’t do this anymore.
“Hey Mare, need a hand?”
Mariner spun around. Casually standing on the back of one of the upturned seats was a familiar purple-haired officer wearing a smile as goofy as it was missed.
Fall From Grace
Chapter 1
The shrill beeping burrowed into Mariner’s skull like a damn ceti eel. Her ears were already ringing when consciousness returned to her, so she did not appreciate whatever dumb ass indicator chose to make her morning hangover worse than it already was. She hadn’t even opened her eyes yet and already she was wishing she could go back to sleep as to not feel like her head was in a compression field.
At least the previous night must have been fun. Too bad she couldn’t remember a damn thing. Waking up to the world spinning with ungodly headaches made worse by any noises above a whisper, usually came with the upside of good memories. But no matter how much she wracked her brain, Mariner could not recall what festivities led to her current hangover.
Like any good hangover experience, Mariner vowed to never drink again before she even began contemplating the arduous task of opening her eyes. She was not looking forward to the hallway lights. That first contact wasn’t going to be fun.
As she continued to wake up she noticed something digging into her shoulders. She went to gab it, only to feel a force pulling her arms straight out in front of her. Something was wrong.
Forcing her eyes open, Mariner winced with pain at the searing light. Taking a deep breath, she tried again. As her vision became somewhat clear so did the realization that she was not in her bunk. She was staring at a row of four empty seats, each equipped with a U-shaped solid over-the-shoulder harness.
Reality hit her like the cold of space. She was in an escape pod.
Her head cocked at the strange sight of her arms held straight out despite making no effort. Then a small red sphere appeared from just above her vision before shooting forward past her hands, and impacting the seat across from her. Blood. It was a drop of blood coming from somewhere on her head.
None of this made any sense. Why would blood be dripping forward? Unless… The escape pod was on its side, and she was hanging from what was the new ceiling.
As her brain fully came online, Mariner had taken stock of her situation. This was a standard escape pod, of which the model number escaped her. But that mattered little. There’d been more than enough life pod drills for Mariner to recognize the style used on the Cali class. They were square in shape with four seats on each wall. The interior corners were flattened off to allow for two supply cabinets, a fold down toilet, and the main hatch.
In her case, all the seats save hers were empty. Wherever she was, she was alone.
Mariner was strapped into the seat directly to the right of the hatch. It was the exact opposite seat the first person in an escape pod was supposed to take. Starfleet regulations called for the filling of escape pods starting farthest from the entrance and working towards the door. This was to allow for smoother and faster loading. Only someone ill concerned with their crewmates would grab the first seat in an otherwise empty escape pod.
A sickening thought formed in the back of her mind.
But there wasn’t time for that now. Starfleet regulations are clear. In a survival situation, an officer’s first priority was to assess their situation and make themselves and any other personnel safe. Tapping her armrest triggered a screen to pop up. Before the status display flicked to life, Mariner caught her own reflection, revealing a vertical gash in the center of her forehead.
A wild party and a hangover were seeming less likely by the second.
The display revealed another problem. Or more accurately, what it didn’t reveal was a problem. All she could make out was an unfocused haze. No amount of squinting and forcing her eyes to focus could make the display clear enough to make out.
“Shit,” Mariner muttered.
She’d been around the galaxy enough to recognize a concussion. Moderate or severe if she had to guess. There was no point in trying to remember what led her to this situation, those memories were gone forever. A concussion meant a chunk of her short-term memory was simply not saved to long-term. The best clue to understanding her predicament simply didn’t stick around.
No point in dwelling on what couldn’t be changed, she still had to make sure she wasn’t in any immediate danger. Thankfully Federation systems are designed to be accessible.
“Computer,” Mariner called out, “status report.”
Mariner winced at the responding beep before the feminine computer voice filled the pod. “Oxygen levels dropping below optimal range. Atmospheric regulators are off-line. Artificial gravity is off-line. Long-range distress beacon is offline, unable to establish connection to Federation communications network. Craft is currently in sub-optimal landing position.”
“No shit.” Mariner rolled her eyes. Of course all the critical systems were fucked up. Why would it be any other way?
The row of seats across from her stared back ominously. At some point she’d have to undo her restraints and drop down to the new ‘floor.’ That was liable to be painful if she didn’t do it right.
“Computer,” Mariner called out, “why was this escape pod launched?”
“Occupied evacuation craft was jettisoned in response to an imminent warp core breach.”
Her chest tightened with dread. No. She shook her head. Just because the computer thought the warp core was about to breach, didn’t mean it actually did. Close calls with warp cores happen every day. Those things are practically made to explode. Billups probably reversed it at the last moment, meaning her mom and the rest of the crew were looking for her. Getting booted into space in an escape pod unnecessarily was something she’d never live down. They were probably sitting on the ship, laughing at her misfortune.
“Where the hell are we?” Mariner asked.
“Location unknown.”
Mariner rolled her eyes. Of course things couldn’t be simple. “What’s it like outside? Any reason I can’t just pop the hatch and get some fresh air?”
“Action not advised. Detecting atmospheric pressure of five-hundred twenty-two pascals. Atmospheric composition consisting of twenty-four percent carbon dioxide, fourteen percent sulfur dioxide-”
“-Ya I get it,” Mariner cut in. “Opening a window is a bad idea.” Figures she’d crash on an unknown planet with what would charitably be called an atmosphere. No need to freak out though, the ship had to be nearby. All she needed to do was just sit tight and wait. “Computer, locate the U.S.S Cerritos.”
“Unable to locate vessel.”
Mariner tried to calm her breathing and rising heart rate. Not detecting them didn’t mean anything. There could be a million reasons the escape pod couldn’t find the ship.
“Computer, scan for any Starfleet vessels in range.”
“Unable to comply. Interference is preventing long range active scanning.”
“What kind of interference?”
“Detecting ionizing radiation consistent with matter-antimatter reactions.”
That was the news she didn’t want to hear. She started to feel sick, whether from the concussion or the news, she wasn’t sure. To fully block active sensors and long range communications, a large amount of antimatter had to detonate. Like a starship’s warp core breaching.
The fifteen empty seats stared back at her. Each was one less spot for a crewmate, for her friends.
She squeezed her eyes shut to block out the ghosts. “Computer, do you detect any other escape pods?”
“Negative.”
Her heart sank. It was unlikely that other pods would land far enough away that they’d be out of range, even with the interference. By design, pods were supposed to automatically group up. Unlikely though, didn’t mean impossible. Maybe another pod landed safely with a damaged transponder or something like that. She just had to hope she wasn’t the only one who made it, wasn’t the only one who fled.
The empty seats were still waiting for her when she opened her eyes. What happened? Why did she leave all of them to die? Her mom, Boimler, Rutherford, Tendi, even Ransom, were they all dead? When they needed her, did she run away and make for the first escape pod, leaving them all to die?
She was supposed to be the bad ass, taking charge because no one else could. She always assumed she’d be the one to parish protecting her crew and her friends. But was she wrong? When it came down to it, had she really just been a coward this whole time?
Visions of her friends dying as she ran away, replayed in her mind. Boimler, Tendi, and Rutherford, all crying out for her help as she ran, leaving them to their fates, their bodies consumed by fire as the Cerritos was torn apart around them.
Her face tensed as tears threatened to pour down her face. Were they all dead because she failed them?
Focus, she needed to focus on the problems she could solve. It was just hard to focus. Simultaneously her head wanted to explode and implode, while a haze covered her vision. If T’Ana were here she’d insult her before slapping her with a hypospray and tossing her on bedrest. Those biobeds sure would be nice. Way more comfortable than hanging face first from a tipped over seat.
Focus. Mariner internally chastised herself. She had to focus on the problem. What did the computer tell her? Fuck it was hard to remember. Gravity? Yes, the gravity wasn’t working. And there was something about communications, and maybe the distress beacon. Maybe? Then there was… Maybe air. Yes, air would make sense. That’s what she should start with. A space that large probably afforded only half a day of usable air at most. Not a great situation to be in.
“Computer, what is wrong with the air shit?”
“Atmospheric regulators are reporting critical error in control circuits.”
That wasn’t exactly helpful. “Computer, where are the control circuits?”
“Atmospheric regulator control circuits are located behind panel 3-A.”
Each seat had a corresponding panel above and behind it. Fighting past the pain and fog, Mariner eventually found the one she was looking for, directly across from her. Or more accurately, below her.
“Fuck.”
All she had to do was unlatch herself from the seat, then climb down the tipped over escape pod. All while nursing a severe concussion. Of course this shit had to be more complicated.
Mariner braced her feet against the foot support and gripped the solid harness with her right hand. Reaching over her head, she grabbed the release, and pulled it. With a click, the restraint came loose. Without support, she dropped. Her unusually sluggish arm couldn’t grab hold as her upper body lurched forward causing her feet to slip out of their restraints. With her left hand still holding onto the restraints, Mariner swung forward, twisting and wrenching her arm. Pain shot through her shoulder as her grip failed.
Mariner plummeted to the row of seats below.
She slammed somewhat feet first into the back of a seat before crumpling against the panels she needed to access. Something audibly cracked. Hopefully whatever it was didn’t belong to her. More dull pain rippled through her body. The pod shifted. Wherever the pod had landed, it was not overly stable.
“Success,” Mariner proclaimed to no one in particular.
She lay there, sprawled against the access panels while the world stopped spinning. What was she doing? Right, the air.
Groaning, Mariner rolled over. She reached over the chairs and fumbled at the storage drawers that would’ve been under the seats had the escape pod landed right side up. After a few tries she found a set of tools and a med kit. The med kid would have to wait though; she had more important things to worry about.
After prying off the access panel she got a look at the offending circuitry. The ungodly number of blinking lights were not doing her headache and unfocused vision any favors.
It would’ve been nice to have a hand with it, maybe someone with a working pair of eyes. But like with everything else, she was on her own. She was always on her own. Though one bright spot was she didn’t have to worry about anyone else for once. Even when she had other people around, like her friends, it was still on her alone to solve the problems and save everybody.
She opened up her tool case and forced her eyes to focus as much as she could. All she could do at that point was work the problem. So she did her best to recall her repair training and went to work.
The next few hours dragged on in a haze of testing, prodding, and bypassing. Trying to repair and force past mental fog at the same time definitely made the work slower. More than once she had to go back and undo previous work that she’d done incorrectly or without considering her next step.
By the time the air circulation fans kicked on, Mariner was physically and mentally exhausted. So badly she wanted to close her eyes and rest. But there was so much more to do. The distress beacon was still offline. That had to be active if anyone were to come looking for her.
Why didn’t she work on that first? She had hours of air left before she even started work on the life support. Someone could’ve already flown by and missed her while she was working on the air. She chastised herself for her priorities. She should’ve called for help first. Fixing that crap might not have been necessary if she’d just gotten the distress beacon up first.
Fuck it was difficult to think clearly.
She needed to find out what was wrong with the distress beacon. She refused to slowly starve to death, trapped in a box on some Q forsaken planet. She was not going to die. Not like… Her mom, like Boimler or Rutherford or Tendi.
The pit in her stomach had grown into swirling black hole. Nearly everyone she cared about was probably dead. No one was coming to help her. She was on her own.
Naturally access to the distress beacon systems were next to the main hatch, a hatch which was now the upper corner of her sideways ship. With no other options, she got to work scaling the row of seats that made up the wall.
The climb was slow. With her mind sluggish and eyes unfocused, Mariner had to take her time and think about every reach and every push. If her mind wandered she as likely to fall, not something she hand any desire to experience again.
Once she reached the top, she stood precariously on an armrest while bracing her arm against the seat she woke up in. From that position she finally got a look through the hatch’s window. Before her was a barren desert of brown rocks and sand. Spires of sharp rocks and steep hills dominated the landscape. Her view was narrow, but enough of the unforgiving world was visible to hammer home how truly alone she was.
The surface was illuminated in the soft red glow of back lit clouds. Beneath the solid canopy of oppressive rust colored clouds, it was impossible to locate the planet’s star. Many streaks of burning debris pierced the cloud cover, raining down across the landscape.
Her heart sank. It was one thing to hear that the warp core might have breached, but to see the wreckage rain down around her, it sealed the Cerritos’s fate.
Tearing her eyes away, she tried to put her focus back on the work. She refused to die. That planet was not going to be her grave.
She pulled open the access panel which was now high on the wall. It was hard to make out, but the lack of indicator lights told her there must’ve been some kind of power failure, possibly a severed conduit somewhere. She just needed to figure… To figure out… Something.
Fuck she wanted to close her eyes and rest. Thanks to the annoying head injury, memories of how long she’d been awake were lost. Plenty of experience informed her that unconsciousness was not the same as sleep. Her brain shut down for some indeterminate time, but her body still needed rest.
“No,” she muttered. Now was not the time. She had to figure some way to get the damn beacon online. Just… how? The answer was there, she could feel it. She knew this, but the answer was just beyond her mind’s reach. If she could maybe close her eyes for a moment…
Her foot slipped off the arm rest. She fell backwards, arms flailing as she grabbed only air.
Mariner’s back crashed into the seat backs which now lay along the floor. A flash of pain shot through her body. Thin cushioning did little to lessen the impact.
“Fuck, shit.” She rolled over and pulled herself to her feet. Mariner braced herself against the wall below the panel. “Dammit.” She didn’t even have the energy to be angry anymore. The cool metal soothed the ever present pain as she pressed her forehead against the wall.
The daunting tasks were weighing on her. She might die here. This escape pod might really be her tomb. Dread was all around her. Every muscle wanted to give up and collapse her into a pile. Laying down and accepting the inevitable, maybe there was merit to that. Why struggle and hurt herself more just to prolong the slow lonely death before her?
What was the point of any of this? Mariner closed her eyes. She couldn’t do this anymore.
“Hey Mare, need a hand?”
Mariner spun around. Casually standing on the back of one of the upturned seats was a familiar purple-haired officer wearing a smile as goofy as it was missed.
