Author's Notes: This is written in present tense. Not usually my style, so please pardon any errors, typos or inconsistencies within the storyline. I have no idea exactly what inspired this. Perhaps my enthusiasm for space exploration is getting mixed into the fandom, maybe it's the need to flesh out some of the time prior to the beginning of the series, could be from enjoying the spring sunshine. Enjoy.
Genre: Drama
Sol
by Crow-Black Dream
Every morning at 0700 hours the cabin lights flicker on while a soft chime rings out to rouse the sleeping crew. Shiro is already awake this particular day, reviewing the latest Earth transmissions. There is much to be done as the X-J7 Heracles closes the distance to Pluto's smallest moon. Communication to ground control takes too long between dispatches this far out and this last report contains refreshing instructions for tasks to be executed as part of the landing procedure that will be happening later today. Shiro already knows what to do, it's one of many reasons why the pilot's chair is his. But it's protocol to review each step and this is the real thing, not a simulator. He's trying to steady his nerves.
Along with the text report there is a message that begins to play over the speakers throughout the ship. Shiro hears Matt and Sam stirring in their bunks as the flight director sends congratulations on behalf of Earth, wishes for speed and grace on their way to the little moon. The broadcast ends with the audio portion of the Voyager Golden Record playing for the three-man crew in its entirety. Shiro feels his heart swell with pride as he listens to greetings recited in dozens of languages, more aware than ever that they are the loneliest humans in existence here at the edge of the solar system.
He gazes out at the central star just as he does every morning, though the idea of "morning" has become obscured after several months without a rising sun. Sol has gone from the dominant feature of earth's sky to just another celestial blaze, though larger than the rest.
A camera floats before him with its strap around his neck, one of the few possessions he was allowed to bring. With a command to the computer the cabin is dark again, dial lights and all, as he gently presses the recessed lens against the ship's windowpane. Nowhere on Earth is there blackness as dark as it is in space. The interior of the ship is a well of thick shadows that gently bleeds away his body heat. By contrast, nowhere on Earth is the light as sharp as it is here where it is not broken by atmosphere.
There is no flash, only a whir when the shutter button is depressed. A sheet of white paper unrolls from within the camera. Instantly darkness begins to materialize as the chemicals develop. The instant camera is better than its Polaroid predecessors and within seconds crisp galaxies and constellations emerge.
Shiro turns the lights back on and affixes the picture above the top right corner of the viewport among the other photographs. They run chronologically left to right beginning with a snapshot of the sun illuminating the orb that is Earth. One photo taken in the asteroid belt features an eclipse among the drifting rocks. Mars, Saturn and Pluto loom in the collage while the other planets are little more than brilliant jewels among the velvet darkness. There is one spot left open next to this latest picture, a space to be filled with a view from the surface of Kerberos. The changes among the background stars and galaxies are hardly perceptible across the journey, and he knows their light like he knows the back of his eyelids. But it is the receding sun that is most prominent of all, its warm yellow light paling with each shot.
…
He fights to stay conscious. Pain pulses through his head with every heartbeat and he tells himself to stay awake, after such blunt trauma to the skull he might not wake up again if he shuts his eyes. He's propped against a cold metal wall, too tired and terrified to move in this hideous purple light. His shoulders and scalp ache from the way they dragged him to his cell and his concussed brain can only circle through a set of questions: Where am I? Who took us? Why? What now?
Vaguely he recalls standing on the moon with his crew while they worked away at drilling for ice samples, then the landscape awash in shades of purple, then nothing for a very long time. Looking around at the alien faces caged beside him, his mind adds two more thoughts. Is all of this real? Where are Sam and Matt?
There's also a visceral terror upon seeing such an array of extraterrestrial life. Realizing he is now captive the fear rises up in his throat and he nearly begins to scream, but he is too weak.
The original question of where comes back around. Trying to find a comfortable spot on the titanium deck between the pain of wrenched limbs and a concussion, he tells himself that he would know exactly where he is if only he can get a glimpse of the sky.
…
Tinnitus is ringing in Shiro's ears and bolts shoot up his leg from running on the abused ankle that hasn't fully healed. His shoulder burns in some spots and is completely without feeling in others. The smell of his own singed flesh and the blood flowing down the back of the throat from his battered nose is making him nauseous. The cuffs are too intentionally too tight around his wrists, causing his hands to go cold and numb.
There was an explosion mere minutes ago when a new prisoner, armed with a device that got past the Galra guards, detonated the bomb near the cell block's control panel. Shiro has always told himself that he would find a methodical means of escape; blindly fleeing through an enemy's ship would end in failure. However, his mind disengaged from any higher thought when the unexpected explosion jarred the cell door loose and he followed the others as they scattered down the halls.
It didn't take long to subdue the revolt. Most of the prisoners tried to hide, aware that they didn't know how to get off this ship, while others barreled straight down the halls trying to kill the guards and take their weapons. Shiro was one of the latter, and was promptly shot at. He was grazed once with a laser that both created and cauterized a wound which is now blackened and smoking but shallow enough to avoid affecting most of the musculature underneath.
It's better than what others have received. A few charred corpses stink as various dark colors of blood slowly drip. The bodies of the dead have been left in their undignified poses for the living to look upon. Others have completely vanished after being directly struck with hot plasma rays of the high-power vaporizing weapons. There is a gritty mist that has settled onto Shiro's face and he suspects that it's a spray of someone's internal organs.
Now everyone is shackled together in line. Starting at one end the guards dole out punishment with fists and feet and the stocks of their guns. Each blow carries through that prisoner's body, through the chain, on to the next captive. Tied together, they collectively feel the beatings and grow restless, the sensation getting stronger as the Galra move down the line.
Shiro tries to calm his mind, steels himself for the pain to come. Only now does he noticed the translucent dome directly overhead: a wide viewport that looks upon a field of stars. The ship is in the midst of a slow barrel roll that brings more into view while the others shift out of sight. He watches each star, looking for precious Sol. But the stars are just stars, different from the constellations he knows. He's trillions of miles from Earth. Too far to send out a message, too far to make it home.
++End++