Mason blinked, sliding a glance sideways at the science bridge station. “Mr. Steele… any idea what I’m looking at?” she asked. “Other than absolutely nothing?”

The lieutenant in question shook his head, his attention focused on the screens in front of him. His hands moved over the console like a concert pianist in the middle of a concerto.

“No captain, you’re not looking at absolutely nothing,” he corrected her. “You’re looking at the outer edges of the Trenaris system.”

Mason nodded. “Indeed, Mr. Steele. However, I am looking at a distinct lack of the presence of the USS Resolute. Any idea why?”

He tilted his head to the side, still not looking up to make eye contact. He rarely did. His lips pursed slightly. “I can’t be precise, sir, but there are some odd readings here.”

His hands fanned out, his movements more animated and she knew he was onto something. Then he stopped suddenly and frowned. For a moment she didn’t think he was going to move. Then he looked up and shot her a quick look, his blue-eyed gaze skittering away quickly. “I need more data. We need to get closer.”

She nodded. Steele was the best science officer she’d ever met, but his extremely introverted manner had condemned him to languish in the back labs of science forever passed over by more out-going colleagues. Until she’d found him in the back of the science labs on the Sherwood, sciencing his way out of being killed by infected crewmates on Frontier Day. 

She’d tried to talk to him afterward about it, but he‘d always seemed more distressed by having to chat to an actual live other person than the huge psychological trauma of having his team turn on him, so she’d been forced to leave it be.

“Cav,” she said, and the helm officer’s shoulders straightened slightly, indicating he’d heard her. “Mr. Steele needs more data, so let’s get him some. Take us in closer. Eyes and ears people, let’s keep them open.”

“Aye sir,” Cav replied. “Whatever Mr. Steele needs, he gets. Taking us in. Softly, softly, catchee big missing shippy.”

She shook her head, but didn’t say anything to his quip. He was the comic relief in tense situations and, right now, she needed her people focused, not uptight. For once Cav didn’t fly hell for leather and they eased gently forward toward the last known position of the Resolute.

“Mr. Steele?”

“That’s better, sir. Thank you. Running scans now… No, that’s not possible. That can’t be possible.” He frowned, holding a hand up as he watched his screens. Then he looked up, his eyes widening. “Sir! We need to get out of he—“

He didn’t get to finish the sentence as the deck was yanked out from under their feet.

Mason yelped as the ceiling became the floor, became the ceiling. Explosions rattled her teeth, heat blooming over her skin as she ducked and curled, covering her head and protecting her stomach.

Her hair whipped across her eyes but she managed to get a look at the main viewscreen. It was filled with violent, violet lightening as they were thrown around, like the Interceptor was a toy starship thrown in on a spin cycle.

She crashed into something, hard, groaning as she managed to grab onto it. Another body crashed past her and she reached out an arm, hauling whoever it was up against her.

It seemed like an eternity before the ship lurched. She opened her eyes, realising that she was looking at the bridge sideways.

“Shit,” was all she managed before the artificial gravity kicked in and they dropped.

“Oooph!” Hitting the deck was as painful as it sounded, especially when her companion landed on her, knocking all the breath out of her.

“Oh my god, sir, I’m so sorry sir!” Ensign Birkett scrambled to her feet, eyes wide and a cut bleeding at the corner of her mouth.

“Not a problem,” Mason groaned as she rolled to her feet. Okay, everything seemed to be working. She shook her head, blinking as the lights on the bridge sparkled in a lightshow of pretty stars, recognising the symptoms of a light concussion.

It would have to wait.

“Report!” she bellowed over the sound of alarms and the fire Beck was currently fighting on the other side of the bridge.

“Tactical currently out of commission,” he called out over his shoulder.

“Rerouting to secondary ops,” Madison called out from behind her. Mason shot her a quick look. The woman was on her feet, typing with one hand and the other curled protectively against her body.

“Shields holding,” someone else called out as Cav hauled himself back into the pilot’s seat. “Helm back online,” he said over his shoulder. “Stabilising us now.”

Her gaze swept around the bridge, noting the voices she wasn’t hearing. Ashfield was slumped against the back wall, blood decorating the side of his face and jaw.

She crouched beside him, pushing her fingers against the side of his neck. Relief washed over her as his pulse beat against her fingertips, strong and true.

“Sickbay, XO to beam down to you,” she ordered, and stood up as Ashfield dematerialised.

“Commander Riggs,” she opened another comm channel to the ship’s second officer. “I need you up on the bridge immediately.”