Lost but Soon to be Found
Prologue
Forty-one years ago, a grand enigma unfolded, marking the beginning of one of the greatest mysteries of the 24th Century. Three colossal super colony ships, surpassing any other colony vessels built under the prestigious Ark's Endeavor Program, embarked on a journey, carrying within them some of humanity's most brilliant minds. However, their path through the cosmos seemed to vanish, leaving no trace or explanation behind.
The United League, a unified coalition comprising all the governments of Earth, assumed control and authority, but they chose to bury the incident under a shroud of secrecy. They allocated minimal resources, sparing only a single retrofitted ship from the long outdated Military Civilian fleet, known as the Evelyn's Vain, to venture into the boundless expanse of space, in order to search for the lost Colony Ships.
Over time, the incident became old news, relegated to mere conversation topics at dinner tables, serving as a way to pass the time or fueling conspiracy theories on internet forums. Some speculated that the colony ships never existed at all, further deepening the intrigue surrounding the vanished vessels. Meanwhile, the Evelyn's Vain persevered, pushing ever deeper into the abyss of dead space, undeterred by the passage of time.
As the years wore on, the once proud and pioneering vessel gradually transformed into a punitive assignment for the many United League's naval personnel. Many of the ship's original crew members had long been reassigned elsewhere, leaving only a solitary survivor from its initial complement; its Captain, William Milton. Despite its diminished crew and outdated design, the Evelyn's Vain remained steadfast in its mission, a symbol of the United League's unwavering commitment to unraveling the enigma and locating the lost colony ships.
/-/
Chapter One - Shade Astray
June 3, 2338
Unexplored Dead Space
U.L.R.V. (United League Research Vessel) Evelyn's Vain
Captain William Milton - ULN Civil Military fleet
His eyes fluttered open upon hearing the sharp buzzing of the alarm clock. Lazily throwing one of his hands towards it, he smacks it off; just as quickly, the artificial lights are automatically turned on with a dull buzz, filling his quarters with an unhealthily bright white light that briefly flickers on and off a few times before remaining on. A reoccurring issue as of recent.
"Alexis," his gruff voice comes out of his mouth, laying a hand over his eyes to shield them from the harsh light. "Please inform Engineering that we still have a power issue," The distinctive Synthetic voice of the shipboard ai responds almost instantly. "They have already been made aware, Captain Milton. Commander Decker reported the issue 3 hours ago as a result of the bridge temporarily losing power".
Uncovering his eyes and sighing, he sits up slowly, hearing his bones creak and crack in the way only a man too far past his prime would know. Glancing at himself in the wall mirror, it reminding him of one of the only nonpartisan furnishings in his cabin, something he put in when first assigned command of The Evelyn's Vain, back when he cared to fix his uniform perfectly and when he still believed in the program's ability to find the missing super colony ships they had launched in that disaster the U.L. called the Arks Endeavor Program.
It had been 41 years since the lead ship, The Remnant of Asgard, a reference to the dwelling of the Aesir in Norse mythology, had reported in. Then another year and a half, stuck in a loop of a series of U.L. bigwigs gathering funds and using it for other projects before they finally scrounged up enough credits to form a crew and ship to set out for it.
He was a young man then, eager to reach out his hand and touch the stars as most people in his now-dying generation had wanted to do, only to find out that most of the space is, in fact, nothing but an inky black void. He sighs again, running his hands through his mottled gray hair, which was far too long for the uniform regulations on Evelyn's Vain. Not that he or the crew were particularly keen on following in the first place.
Standing up and pressing the button on the wall-mounted coffee machine, he makes his way to his closet, throwing on his Service Dress Whites that was once a clean, eye-catching white but are now a washed out, almost grey color and stained in spots from coffee spills over the years. He decided to leave the reefer coat and hat hanging in the wardrobe; he didn't make the crew follow uniform regulations, so why should he be forced to?
Hearing the soft ding of the coffee machine, he reckons that it's about time to start his shift on the command deck. Unlocking the door with the keypad on the wall, he makes his way through the hallways, the cup of coffee in hand.
The coffee aboard the Evelyn's Vain was always a sad sight, much like any government-provided form of caffeine, long overdue for replacement with a newer, better civilian model; it would spit out chunks of coffee ground within every cup, leading to many of the crew to forgo it entirely and seek energy another way, be it energy drinks or one of the many ration bar variants, something the corporations had paid for, for advertisements. Not so much For Captain Milton, whether it's from his taste buds dying off from drinking it for 40-something-odd years or his gradually darker mood, he doesn't even seem to notice the floating chunks of coffee grinds as he sips away at it as he nears the Bridge.
Having reached it after a few twists and bends, a large hydraulic double door hisses open, revealing a large room with 4 or 5 seats and blinking terminals shrouded by the large windows of the cockpit that lead out into the void of space. "G'day Captain, time for a shift change already?". A chipper voice rings out, one that could only belong to Commander Sloan Decker, a chiseled man in his mid to late twenties with olive skin and kind green eyes. The man took care of himself, and it showed. "It appears that way Decker" Sighing, Milton continues, "Anything of note that I should be made aware of that happened while I was asleep." Already guessing what Decker would respond, he adds with a wave of his coffee-filled hand. "Other than the power issue, I mean."
Decker, briefly looking at his eyebrows in contemplation, states after a moment, "Nothing of note, sir- well, its probably nothing, but we actually received a short ping on our sensors during the maintenance scan of all the systems during the power surge a couple of hours ago. I already adjusted our heading toward it just in case". Shrugging, he adds, "It was probably just a glitch in the Sensor array. It's pretty common to get some interference with those Dalton-M3s we've got installed."
The Captain nods in agreement; the Dalton sensor package was one of the many evolutionary dead ends in space-faring Sensor technology that the U.L. had thought was going to be a great asset on the Evelyn when she was first retrofit for the Operation; at the time, it seemed like an incredible idea to pack three antennas of varying lengths in relatively close range to each other to exponentially decrease the power required of the sensor sweeps by switching antennas as the ship would get more relative to whatever it was scanning. In fairness, it did, just with the added consequence of the antennas occasionally feedbacking off of each other and giving false readings, sometimes so destructive it would force reset the Sensor suite entirely and give false readings until it was adequately recalibrated.
Decker cutting a would-be more extended conversation short, gives a quick yawn and says, "Well, ill see you next shift Captain" and taps his shoulder as he walks past him. The Captain nods back; it's a shame they had to work separate shifts to keep the ship afloat; Decker was a good man in Milton's eyes and one of the few people aboard the ship who could understand his jaded personality and still understand why he wouldn't give up the search even after wasting most of his life.
Deciding to waste no time, he steps up towards the elevated helm he would call home for the next 12 hours, reaching to place his cup in the cupholder, only to find that Decker's thermos was once again in it, clearly forgotten about. "Decker, your ther- oh godamnit" Shaking his head, he leans against the protective railing lining the helm and sighs once again, wishing he had the more modern design of command deck, one that didn't force him to stand and eyeball every move the crew made like the salty old breed Navy types liked to do. As dead as they no doubt felt inside about the job, his staff knew what they were doing; each one spent months training for whatever purpose they were assigned to, and they were damn good at it too. Why would he need to lord over them with a crown and scepter?
Taking a quick glance around, Milton took hold of his current crew. There were only twelve people forming a skeleton crew aboard the relatively small Vessel, with half of the staff asleep at any given moment, resulting in even less that he would actually see on a daily basis.
His average daytime team would typically consist of 2 people his Systems Engineer, Tyson Crowley, a skinny, balding man in his forties; who Milton had observed as a quiet man very dedicated to his job if a bit standoffish at times. Crowley was one of the longest-standing crew members, having been on the ship for around 11 years, second only to Milton himself, who had been on board the Evelyns Vain since she was first deployed.
Crowley was already deep into work, always arriving a little earlier than everyone else to quote, "Fix the arrays that the night crew had undoubtedly messed up." Milton had laughed fairly hard when he first heard it appreciating a man who took pride in his work but had, over the years, begun to wonder if Crowley was just a perfectionist who couldn't handle a little leeway when regarding the equipment he was responsible with. Either way, he did a good job, so Milton didn't care about the odd tendencies.
Noticing the other crewmate was missing, Milton was about to open his mouth to ask where he was before the door opened again with its distinctive hiss and a loud "Don't you worry, your pretty lil head captain, the star of the show's here."
With a broad smile staining his face, the pilot of the Evelyn's Vain had arrived in his usual glamorous Irish glory. A short, somewhat overweight fellow, Conor Daly was typically the life of the Bridge, being able to cut the silence with a story about his youth or even singing the "traditional songs of Ireland from before we had spaceships," as he would always say when asked about it even when it wasn't an Irish folk song or whatever. Milton had never called him out on his blatant bullshit even when Daly had claimed that a Pete Seegar song he had just finished singing was, in fact, not the anthem of the Labor Movement of Americans in the 40s but, in fact, a song about how the English forced the poor Irish to mine their gold that his "Mammy" had sung him as a boy.
Milton grunted in response ignoring the chagrinless individual, turned back towards the helm, and began logging into his computer before informing the pilot, "Maintain the heading Alexis was following when you get to your chair Daly; we got a sensor ping earlier today, according to Decker, and I intend to investigate it."
Crowley's head peering briefly over his station before going back to whatever he was doing, opens his mouth and says, "It's probably nothing, I reviewed it already, and it was just a splotch, probably a false reading given how screwed up those Dalton antennas are, the monkeys really botched it up this time, it's off-kilter by at least two degrees."
Daly, always willing to rile him up, getting some sick form of happiness from it, replies quickly as he passes by him, giving a quick swat on his shoulder. "Oh, simmer down, won't ya, buddy? The antennas probably tilted by themselves."
"How could they possibly do that? Do you have any idea how secure the mounting is on thos- oh, what's that?" Crowley interrupts himself and, after staring at his screen for a moment, begins fiddling with the knobs and buttons that control the antennas before continuing, "Captain, I'm sending this to your terminal for Alexis to review; I believe it's the same thing the night crew had detected earlier today."
Alexis' form appears beside the Captain's computer synth voice, ringing out, "I am ready and waiting for a direct interface Captain."
Milton nods at her and grabs a bundle of wires under where she is projected; being the utmost authority, he was the only one who could grant permission to the ai to do things that would affect other systems, in this case, hard linking into the Captain's personal computer that has no restrictions placed on it like the other crewmen' devices would be under, for example, a systems engineer could not access the piloting terminal from his position unless granted permission from the Captain's computer and vice versa.
The cables latch into the computer port with a sharp click, and Alexis' form disappears, quickly at work opening tabs on the terminal and then closing them faster than Milton could blink, rapidly going through data until eventually, after several seconds landing on one in particular - a file named "Le Bout Du Monde." Alexis appears visibly again, throwing out her hand, and a 3d wireframe rendition of a colony ship appears hovering over the deck. Alexis raises her other hand shortly after and moves it in front of the other. The still frame of Crowley's sensor report encompasses the wireframe vessel in a green glow - it is almost a match albeit with numerous visual glitches and a bunch of other green blobs of unidentified stuff.
"Crowley, what is all that outlying stuff?" Milton asks, gesturing towards the blobs. Leaning in and examining the ai's handiwork, Crowley responds with a hand against his chin. "Could be anything, really. We're not close enough for a composition scan;" Stopping for a moment of inquisitiveness he continues, "My guess is either a sensor error or space debris. Still, even with the errors, that is an incredible match-up of that super colony ship."
Milton nods, mirroring Crowley's stance. "Indeed it is, but this exact thing has happened before; there's quite a bit of space rock out there that looks like things it isn't. Good work, Alexis. May I unplug you now? Alexis looks at the Captain and simply nods, the holograms disappearing as well as herself as Milton pulls out the wires in his computer.
Swiveling in his pilot's chair, Daly faces Milton and Crowley crossing his arms casually, "Whatever it is we'll have a visual on it fairly soon, Captain. My money's on space rock, if you were wonderin'." Rotating back to the terminals, he returns to the controls, slightly adjusting the heading. "But just to entertain the thought. What if it is one of the missing colony ships? What then?"
Milton leans forward, looking at his terminal, which still has the 3d model on it -Alexis having not closed the tab. "Well," he begins pausing to think about it for a moment, "Well, first would be contacting the U.L.N. and informing them we found it and to send some support; I doubt there are any U.L.N. fleets in range to actually help us anytime soon though unless there happens to be an anti-piracy patrol skirting the borders, it's really more of a formality."
Daly giving a short "uhuh" prompts Milton to continue. "Next would be the more important part of actually securing the site to find out what went wrong; that would involve cutting into the doors of the ship because it likely doesn't have power, and then ideally finding the black box onboard." With a breath, he finishes, "And finally, we'd transport said black box wherever the Navy wants it delivered so some lab coats can analyze it. Then it's back out here again to find the rest."
"That's a surprisingly simple set of solutions there, Captain," Daly responds. Milton runs a quick hand through his hair and gives a half-shrug. "There used to be more steps when we assumed there was a possibility of survivors, but it's been decades."
The next half hour or so was spent in a simple quiet, the crew either finding nothing to talk about or, in Crowley's case, enjoying the peace that it brought. Decker had come in at one point looking for his thermos, finding it almost instantly; this was not the first nor the last time he would forget it in the cupholder. He had left soon after muttering a half-hearted apology to Milton with a smile, who had just shrugged it off, not really caring but happy with the fact that he now had a spot to place his coffee.
"Feck, Captain, there she is!" Daly suddenly swears, jerking the throttle back so he can approach at a comfortable speed. "That ain't no rock, that's for sure. Would you look at the size of that thruster? It must be twice the size of our ship!"
Evelyn's Vain, having slowed to a crawl at this point, lazily drifted around the massive colony ship. At this point, Milton had left his station and approached behind the pilot's chair to get a full view of it. "I've got to take her slow here, Captain; there's a lot of debris around her."
"Take your Time Daly; we have all the time in the world."
The Evelyn's Vain had gradually approached the side of the massive ship, having approached from the engine side, her giant main thruster and 4 smaller ones having long since gone out, and finally came into full view of her side to witness the apparent reason for the colony ships demise, her entire left side was riddled with dents and a massive gouge scratched across half the ship exposing her guts to the void. "She looks scalded pretty bad," Daly says, pointing towards a black streak for the Captain. Sure enough, on top of the massive scar, there were sections of the hull that were completely black as if charred.
"Do you think it was pirates, sir?" Daly asks.
"We won't know for sure until we're inside her, but I don't think so; you'd need some serious firepower to do that kind of damage to a ship of that weight class, and pirates aren't known for their S.T.S. (ship to ship) skills."
The Evelyn's Vain finally slowed down to a stop, in perfect view of the ship's primarily scorched but still legible nameplate. "Le Bout Du Monde," Milton says out loud, not fully believing that it was, in fact, one of the three Super Colony ships until he saw the nameplate. He presses a hand to his head, wiping away at cold, clammy skin as he numbly walks back towards his station. His hands come back shaking, and he has to lean against the railing for a second to catch his breath.
Finally, it's finally in front of him, the ship that he had spent 40 years of his life trying to find. It had ruined his marriage and relationship with his children and wasted any chance at further promotion in the Navy for certain, but seeing the mottled grey hull of the Le Bout Du Monde had made it all worth it in a moment. Having moved back to the helm, his hand presses the intercom button. "All hands, report to your stations."