Michael Zane looked at the captain on the bridge of the USS Steamrunner. At least, he thought it was the Steamrunner – the bridge seemed to be the same as it had always been. The stations looked the same, but there was a bright light coming from the consoles that seemed to be blinding. Yet somehow Zane could look at it straight on.
The last thing he remembered was being at his station… There had been a massive battle against the Borg, and although the day was about to be won, there were three Borg Diamonds that had shot past the vanguard and reached the back of the fleet.
Where Michael's ship was. The Steamrunner was an artillery ship – it carried heavy photon and quantum torpedoes, and was not meant to engage in close-range fights.
Where the Borg Diamonds activated the Ultritium Burst weapon that the Federation had fought so hard to keep out of their hands…
There had been a flash of purple. Through the viewscreen Zane could see the other torpedo ships blowing apart one by one, their shields failing and their hulls venting atmosphere. He remembered that the young lieutenant had just had time to shout out that their shields were at 12% and dropping when there had been one more crackle. Everything went bright and hot, then dark, and freezing cold. Then simply nothing at all.
And now he was here, on the bridge of a ship that looked to be the Steamrunner, but with a strange whiteness over everything. It wasn't ethereal, exactly. On the contrary, it looked to be more real than anything in life ever had before.
He walked to the captain and cleared his throat softly, as he'd always done to attract the attention of Captain Tchainosky. The captain of this ship was tall, very tall, and wore an all-black Starfleet uniform.
Zane looked up at the captain's face, and his brain went through a series of mental gymnastics as he tried to make sense of what he saw. Of course the captain had a face. He hadn't heard of any species that looked like… like… He hadn't heard of any really different species getting a captaincy recently, so the captain had a face, and eyes. He definitely had eyes. Blue ones.
HELLO, LIEUTENANT COMMANDER MICHAEL ZANE, AGE THIRTY FOUR, STARFLEET SERIAL NUMBER SP DASH NINE THREE SEVEN DASH TWO ONE FIVE.
Zane swallowed.
"Sir," he said slowly, "where am I?"
THEY ALWAYS ASK THAT FIRST. TELL ME, LIEUTENANT COMMANDER MICHAEL ZANE, AGE THIRTY FOUR, STARFLEET SERIAL NUMBER SP DASH NINE THREE SEVEN DASH TWO ONE FIVE, WHERE DOES IT LOOK LIKE YOU ARE?
"It looks like I'm on the Steamrunner again, going through space."
THERE YOU ARE, THEN. DON'T COMPLICATE THINGS.
"Sir, wasn't… wasn't the Steamrunner destroyed in the battle, though? That's what I remember."
THE CREW OF THIS SHIP LOVED HER. THE OFFICERS OF THIS SHIP LOVED HER. IT IS… REMARKABLY DIFFICULT TO PERMANENTLY DESTROY AN OBJECT THAT IS LOVED.
Zane looked down at his polished black shoes.
"Am I dead, then, sir?"
YES. HONESTLY, I WOULD'VE THOUGHT YOU HAD WORKED THAT OUT BY NOW. MOST PEOPLE GET IT WHEN THEY DIE.
Zane grinned.
"I've always been a stubborn one, sir. I suppose the right question would be, where are we going?"
THROUGH THE WORMHOLE AND TO THE STARBASE, OF COURSE. YOU'VE GOT TO GO UP AND IN TO REALLY GET ANYWHERE. ONCE WE GET TO THE STARBASE, YOU'LL BE SORTED OUT, I THINK. YOU SERVED WELL. YOU FOLLOWED THE RULES. WHEN YOU WERE ORDERED TO ATTACK A SHIP THREE TIMES YOUR SIZE, YOU DID NOT HESITATE. BUT PERHAPS YOUR MOST IMPORTANT QUALITY IS THE ONE YOU POSSESSED WHEN YOU WERE NOT ON DUTY.
If he squinted at the viewscreen, Zane could just about make out a blue speck in the stars. Within a few seconds, it had turned into a larger blue blob, spinning in the void.
"What was that, sir?"
YOU WERE KIND TO YOUR FRIENDS. YOU FORGAVE THEM THEIR TRESPASSES. AND WHENEVER YOU VISITED YOUR FRIEND COUNSELOR WALTER PIERCE, AGE 41, STARFLEET SERIAL NUMBER HG DASH ZERO TWO ONE DASH NINE NINE SIX, YOU BROUGHT A PIECE OF FISH TO HIS CAT.
"Sir?" Zane frowned in puzzlement.
I QUITE LIKE CATS.
Zane nodded, confident in his lack of understanding of things in the afterlife. The blue blob was getting closer now, coalescing into the traditional wormhole shape.
In his peripheral vision, he could make out faint images of ships entering the wormhole, dozens and hundreds of them. Maybe even thousands.
"Who's in command of those ships, sir?" he asked in a whisper.
I AM.
"All of them?"
ALL OF THEM.
Zane licked his lips. The Steamrunner was getting quite close now.
"If I may ask, sir," he said nervously, "who will be at the starbase?"
The Captain looked at him, and Zane looked back. It was like looking into two supernovas through a blue lense, and every moment you looked deeper you saw more and more. Some of it was beautiful, and some of it you wished you had never seen in a thousand years.
"… Oh." He said quietly. "Even…?"
YES, MICHAEL.
"But then after that I'll see..?"
YES. THE CAT AS WELL.
Zane straightened up.
"I think I'll be all right, then."
SET COURSE, OFFICER.
"Setting course, sir. Course laid in."
As the wormhole opened for them, Michael Zane could have sworn he heard the faint mewling of a cat.