Silence was a powerful thing, especially when it prefaced a certain degree of tension felt by all on the bridge of a starship. Aboard Hathaway, the bridge crew on duty during this particular shift was watching with bated breath as the squadron carried out its test manoeuvres. Every so often, the silence would be pierced by radio updates from Cerberus One (the squadron leader), or one of his pilots.

Nearly two hours under their belt, Captain Romaes was feeling a little more relaxed than he probably should, slouched in his command chair and head buried in the latest reports from the former demilitarised zone. His illustrious predecessor, Captain Nazir, had Lakota Squadron in the middle of quarantine operations on some Cardassian colonies being afflicted by a peculiar illness. Other ships from across the fleet were entangled in operations around the former DMZ, or on the opposite side of the Federation where the Klingon Empire was in turmoil (again). Everything made for an interesting read. So interesting, in fact, that he very nearly missed the beeping of the aft science station.

Viviene Kendall (or Viv to her friends) had not, however, and was hard at work ascertaining the cause for the mild alert when the Captain appeared at her side for an update. “Captain,” she frowned, “sensors are detecting unusual activity from the system’s star.”

“Valesa,” the Bajoran turned his head and looked towards the forward stations, “on screen.”

“Aye Captain,” the Denobulan nodded and swiftly adjusted the forward display to show the Kanaan system’s star. It was instantly clear to all observing that something wasn’t quite right.

“What on earth is happening over there?” Jinaril muttered, his voice slicing through the tense silence. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing at the chaotic scene on the viewscreen. His jaw clenched, a vein throbbing at his temple. He spun around, fixing a steely gaze on the Science station. “Kendall, status report!”

Kendall was hard at work, reading the sensor reports that were streaming into her station. “The star is in a state of flux,” she reported, eyes trained on her controls as her fingers danced a merry tune. “Readings suggest we could see several solar flares of incredible magnitude.”

“Define ‘incredible,’ Lieutenant,” Jinaril interjected, his eyes boring into the officer with intensity.

Slowly, menacingly, the scientist spun from her console and looked towards the Captain and his first officer. “Incredible as in, we need to leave. Now.”

Upon hearing her words, Jinaril’s eyes widened, his jaw clenching. He shot a quick, intense glance at his superior, a silent exchange of urgency. Turning sharply to the helm, he barked, “Henry, lay in a course five-six-nine-mark-four-three. Get us out of here!”

As the command echoed through the bridge, a brilliant light erupted behind the asteroid belt. It grew rapidly, shadows of asteroids and starfighters stretching ominously across the viewscreen. The light intensified, swallowing the darkness, and within moments, it enveloped everything in a blinding radiance. Jinaril raised his arms to shield his eyes, the bridge bathed in an overwhelming, stark illumination.

“Aye, Commander!” Mason said, his hands frantically moving about his console faster than he’d probably ever seen in his life. After the coordinates were entered, he engaged as quickly as he could and the Hathaway began turning around towards it’s new heading. He didn’t have a chance to look back at the navigational sensors to monitor the solar flare activity from the star, but he had a horrible feeling they weren’t going to jump to warp in time to escape.

His prediction was proven to be correct mere seconds later as a brighter flash erupted from the Kanaan star, engulfing the bridge in a light akin to what some believed they would see before entering their afterlife. Only this time, the flash was not alone, for with it came a shockwave that battered the Sagan-class ship, sending it into a barrel roll any pilot would have been envious of. Across the ship, people and equipment alike were hurled into bulkheads, deck plating and even the ceilings of their rooms until Hathaway came to a dead stop – no lights, no power, not even a sign of life.

Jinaril’s eyelids fluttered open, the dimness of the bridge washing over him. Disorientation clouded his thoughts. Had he been knocked out, or was it merely the force of the blast that had thrown him off balance? If he had lost consciousness, how long had it been? Seconds? Minutes? His right side throbbed with a sharp, persistent ache, as if a swarm of worker bees had attacked him. With a grunt, he attempted to push himself up, but his arms trembled, betraying his weakened state. Collapsing back onto the hard floor, he felt frustration and determination intertwine within him. Gritting his teeth, he resolved to try again, this time favoring his left side.

Slowly rising to his feet, Jinaril surveyed the bridge with growing concern. Darkness engulfed the once bustling space, the consoles silent and inert. Only a faint glimmer of light emanating from the front of the bridge provided any semblance of visibility, casting eerie shadows that danced along the walls. ‘What in the universe happened?’ he wondered, his heart racing with apprehension.

Turning his gaze to the right, he spotted a looming silhouette sprawled on the floor near the command chair. Dread gripped him as he recognized the figure. It had to be the Captain.

Descending to his knees, Jinaril reached out, his fingers trembling as they brushed against the Captain’s motionless form. The cold metal floor beneath him sent shivers up his spine. Pressing two fingers against the Captain’s neck, he searched desperately for a pulse. Relief flooded through him as he detected a faint, but steady rhythm.

Urgency fueled his actions as he gently shook the Captain’s shoulder, his voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with urgency and concern. “Captain… Captain Romaes?” His eyes darted around the dimly lit bridge, every shadow seeming to conceal an unknown threat, as he awaited any sign of life from his superior.

At last, a flicker of life showed upon the fallen Captain, his eyelids fluttering open several times until they finally stayed open long enough for the bridge to come into focus. Placing his hands on the floor on either side of him, the Captain tried to force himself to at least sit up but instantly fell back to the decking. A searing pain at the back of his skull caused him to lift his head as much as he could, and place a gentle hand on his apparently matted hair. When he withdrew it, the sigh made him feel incredibly nauseous – it was covered in crimson liquid.

“I don’t feel so good…” he whispered, looking up at his XO, then faded out of consciousness.

Jinaril tapped his commbadge. “Miller to Sickb—” He stopped abruptly. The familiar chirp was missing. He tapped it again, frowning, and again received only silence. Sighing, he muttered, “Comms are down.”

He straightened up, eyes scanning the darkened bridge. Shadows loomed across lifeless consoles, the shimmer of light that came through the front viewport casting a faint, eerie glow. From the port side, a faint moan broke the silence, followed by a strange scuffling sound to starboard. His pulse quickened, the dimness making it hard to discern details.

“Hello? Who’s there? Anyone conscious and present?” His voice cut through the gloom. When no immediate response came, he called out more forcefully, “This is Commander Miller. Bridge crew, if able, report in!”

A groan from the tactical station was accompanied by a low growl as both Vivienne Kendall and Ensign Qiraro dragged themselves to their feet. “Commander…” the Bolian answered, rubbing his temples.

Soon, Ensign Valesa was back in her chair at Ops, dragging herself to the station and trying her best to steady herself.

When steady herself, Viv stumbled her way down the stairs towards the Commander and the prone Captain. She was no medical officer, but she had enough training to be able to steady him. “Get me a medical kit,” she instructed the XO, taking charge of the situation.

In the background, the Bolian tactician was in hushed conversation with the Denobulan at Ops, trying to ascertain what they should do next.

Mason’s eyes jolted open at the sound of Commander Miller shouting across the bridge. Lifting his head very slowly, he noticed he was no longer seated at the helm, but over on the floor by the view screen. It was so dark, and he could hardly make anyone out, but from what he could see, his vision was incredibly blurry. An intense pain started pulsing on his forehead, and as he brought his hand up to his head, he could feel he had an open wound. Though, how bad it was, he couldn’t tell. Mason tried to speak up to let them know where he was and failed at first. He took another few shallow breaths before he finally managed to groan, “Here…” He tried to get himself up on his knees, but immediately collapsed back on his chest. So, he just laid there and just kept breathing, hoping someone would find him…

…and soon.