The Bridge Between
Chapter 3: Echoes of Mindoir
UNKNOWN
Jane Shepard's eyes fluttered open to the familiar hum of the SSV Einstein's drive core. The vibration pulsed through the metal walls of her family's quarters, a constant rhythm she'd known since childhood. She blinked, momentarily disoriented by the cramped bedroom. Something felt off—like looking at a childhood photo where the colors had subtly shifted.
She ran her fingers along the Alliance-standard bedding, surprised by how real it felt. The rough military-grade fabric scratched against her fingertips exactly as she remembered. Yet a strange certainty nagged at her—she shouldn't be here. This moment had long passed.
Jane sat up, pushing the thin blanket aside. Her sixteen-year-old body responded with the gangly awkwardness of adolescence, lacking the muscle memory and precision she somehow expected. She glanced down at her hands—smooth, unscarred, and missing calluses she couldn't recall acquiring but somehow knew should be there.
"You're finally awake," a warm, familiar voice called from beyond the bedroom door. "I was beginning to think you'd sleep through the entire shift cycle."
Her father's voice. Thomas Shepard.
Jane's heart lurched in her chest. She swung her legs over the bed and padded across the small room, the cold metal floor sending shivers up her spine. The door slid open with a soft hydraulic hiss, revealing the main living area of their family quarters.
Thomas stood at the kitchenette, his back to her as he prepared breakfast. The sight struck her as unusual—her father's duties as Captain typically began before she woke. He turned, spatula in hand, and smiled. He looked younger than she somehow expected, his dark hair lacking the silver streaks she associated with him, his face less lined.
"Morning, sleepyhead," he said, flipping what appeared to be synthetic eggs in a small pan. "Thought you might appreciate a real breakfast before classes."
Jane moved toward the small table, her movements feeling simultaneously natural and foreign. "Thanks, Dad."
Thomas glanced at her, his green eyes—so like her own—studying her face. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Bad dreams?"
"I... I'm not sure." Jane rubbed her temples. "Everything feels strange this morning."
Her father nodded thoughtfully, sliding the eggs onto a plate. "The mind plays tricks sometimes. Especially when we're standing at crossroads." He placed the plate before her, then leaned against the counter, his expression turning philosophical. "Life is full of choices, Jane. Some small, some universe-altering. The hardest part is knowing which is which when you're making them."
The comment struck her as odd—too weighty for breakfast conversation. Thomas continued, his voice taking on a tone she rarely heard outside his official duties.
"If you had to choose between saving one person you love or many strangers, what would duty demand?"
The question hung in the air, loaded with significance neither of them fully understood. Jane stared at her father, fork suspended halfway to her mouth.
Before she could answer, the door to their quarters slid open again. Hannah Shepard strode in, already dressed in her Executive Officer uniform, datapad in hand. Her mother's posture was perfect, her movements efficient as she crossed to the kitchenette.
"Morning, you two," Hannah said, accepting a cup of coffee from Thomas. Her eyes scanned the datapad as she spoke. "Engineering reports the drive core is running at optimal efficiency, but Lieutenant Rodriguez is concerned about power fluctuations in the port stabilizers."
Thomas nodded, seamlessly shifting from philosophical father to ship's Captain. "Tell Rodriguez to run a level-three diagnostic. If the fluctuations persist, we'll need to recalibrate before our next relay jump."
The family dynamic felt perfectly normal yet strangely heightened—as if Jane was seeing it through a lens of nostalgia and foreknowledge simultaneously. She watched her parents interact, their movements around each other practiced and comfortable, yet she couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing, something important just beyond her grasp.
"I should get going," Jane said, finishing her breakfast quickly. "I promised to help Lieutenant Choi in the hydroponics lab before classes."
Hannah glanced up from her datapad. "Don't forget your Academy application needs to be submitted by the end of the week. Your father and I can review it tonight if you'd like."
Jane nodded, though she felt a strange disconnect—as if the Academy application belonged to another life, another time. "Thanks, Mom. I'll see you both later."
She left their family quarters, stepping into the corridor of the Einstein. The passageway stretched before her, longer than she remembered, the junctions and doorways somehow not quite where they should be. Jane frowned, orienting herself before heading toward the ship's central sections.
Crew members passed her, nodding in recognition. Some faces were familiar—childhood fixtures aboard the Einstein—but others gave her pause. A dark-haired woman in an engineering uniform smiled as she passed, though Jane was certain she'd transferred to the Einstein years later. A security officer with a distinctive scar across his jaw saluted her father's daughter with respect, but Jane knew he'd served on another vessel entirely.
The inconsistencies prickled at the edges of her awareness as she made her way to the mess hall. The space was half-full, crew members eating or conversing in small groups. Jane grabbed a glass of water and found a seat near the viewport, listening to the conversations around her.
"—heard the batarians are pushing hard against the border colonies," a communications specialist was saying, her voice low but carrying. "Command's worried about Mindoir especially. Strategic location, minimal defenses."
Jane's head snapped up, her attention caught by the colony name. The specialist continued, unaware of her interest.
"Intelligence reports suggest they might be planning something big. Testing our response times, probing for weaknesses."
"The colonists don't stand a chance if they hit in force," her companion replied. "Not without immediate Alliance intervention."
The conversation felt ominously prescient, raising goosebumps along Jane's arms. When she turned to look more closely at the speakers, their faces had changed—different uniforms, different ranks. The new occupants of the table were discussing duty rotations, no mention of batarians or colonies.
Jane blinked hard, wondering if she'd imagined the entire exchange. As her eyes refocused, she noticed a young boy sitting alone at a table across the mess hall. He couldn't have been more than ten, with close-cropped hair and solemn eyes that watched her with unnerving intensity. His presence struck her as wrong—there were no children aboard the Einstein besides herself and a handful of other officers' teenagers.
She stood, intending to approach him, but a group of crew members walked between them. When they passed, the boy was gone, his table empty as if he'd never been there.
Jane left the mess hall, unsettled. As she walked the corridors toward the hydroponics lab, she spotted the boy again, standing outside the med bay. He watched her silently, but when she changed direction to approach him, he slipped through the door. By the time she reached it, the med bay was empty except for the ship's doctor, who looked up from his terminal with confusion at her breathless entrance.
"Can I help you, Jane?" Dr. Chakwas asked.
The name struck Jane as wrong—the Einstein's doctor was named Winslow, not Chakwas. Yet the woman before her wore the Einstein's medical insignia, her presence seeming both foreign and completely natural.
"I... I thought I saw someone come in here," Jane said, backing toward the door. "Sorry to disturb you."
She continued her exploration of the ship, increasingly aware of discrepancies that no one else seemed to notice. Corridors led to unexpected destinations, rooms appeared in places she was certain had been storage closets. Near engineering, she spotted the boy again, watching her from behind a power conduit. This time when she approached, he didn't run, but simply vanished when she blinked.
Jane made her way to the Combat Information Center where her father should be on duty. The CIC buzzed with activity, officers and technicians moving with purpose between stations. Thomas stood at the central command post, reviewing reports with his senior staff. Jane hung back, observing.
The displays around the CIC showed information that didn't align with what she knew to be current. A tactical map indicated Alliance fleet positions that didn't match current deployments. A status board listed colony conditions, including "Mindoir: Critical—Evacuation Underway" and "Eden Prime: Compromised—Geth Presence Confirmed."
Jane frowned. Neither situation had occurred—Mindoir was peaceful, and she'd never heard of geth attacking human colonies. She approached a nearby communications officer who was frowning at her console, adjusting frequencies.
"—repeat, this is Mindoir Colony requesting immediate assistance. We are under attack by batarian forces. Civilian casualties—" The transmission cut out in a burst of static.
"What's that?" Jane asked, leaning over the officer's shoulder. "Is that from Mindoir?"
The woman looked up, confused. "What? No, I'm monitoring routine colonial chatter. Agricultural reports, supply requisitions. Nothing unusual."
Jane glanced at the console, which now displayed exactly what the officer described—mundane colonial communications. No distress calls, no mentions of attacks.
On a nearby screen, a news broadcast showed a reporter standing before a colonial administration building, discussing security measures along the border worlds. As the camera panned, it briefly captured a man in an expensive suit observing from the sidelines. When he turned toward the camera, his eyes caught the light with an unnatural blue glow.
Jane blinked, and the broadcast changed to standard Alliance promotional material—smiling colonists, pristine farmlands, the promise of a bright future on humanity's new frontier.
She backed away from the communications station, increasingly disoriented. Nothing made sense—the ship was both exactly as she remembered and fundamentally wrong in ways no one else seemed to notice.
Jane made her way to her favorite observation deck, seeking a moment of quiet to gather her thoughts. The small room was typically empty during day shifts, offering a peaceful view of space through its reinforced viewport. To her surprise, Thomas was already there, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, gazing out at the stars.
"Dad? Shouldn't you be on duty?"
He turned, smiling softly. "Sometimes a captain needs a moment of perspective." He gestured for her to join him. "I was just thinking about you, actually. About your future."
Jane moved to stand beside him, looking out at the endless expanse of space. "My Academy application?"
"That, and beyond." Thomas's voice carried unusual intensity. "You're meant for command, Jane. I've always known it. But command brings with it burden and sacrifice. Sometimes the greatest service comes at the highest personal cost."
She studied her father's profile, noting lines of worry that hadn't been there at breakfast. "You sound like you're preparing me for something specific."
Thomas sighed. "Just the reality of the life we've chosen. The Alliance demands much from its officers. Especially its best ones." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Whatever path you walk, remember that your choices define you. Not your abilities, not your rank—your choices."
As they talked, Jane noticed personal items around the observation deck that didn't belong. A worn leather book on a side table belonged to Lieutenant Kim, who had transferred off the Einstein two years earlier. A distinctive coffee mug bearing the insignia of the SSV Hastings sat on a shelf, though no Hastings crew members served aboard their ship.
Most disturbing was the memorial plaque on the wall. Jane was certain it hadn't been there before, yet it seemed a permanent fixture of the room. As she watched, the list of names engraved on its surface flickered—empty one moment, filled the next. When names appeared, her father's was among them: "Captain Thomas Shepard, KIA."
Jane blinked hard, and the plaque returned to blankness.
The ship's intercom crackled to life: "Alpha shift report to stations. Beta shift standby for relief."
Thomas checked his watch. "That's odd. Shift change isn't for another three hours."
Before Jane could respond, the intercom repeated the exact same message, word for word. Neither her father nor anyone passing in the corridor outside seemed to notice the repetition.
Throughout the day, the time indicators on the ship's displays kept resetting, showing the same hour repeatedly. Announcements for shift changes came multiple times, with the same crew responding each time, unaware of the duplication.
By evening, Jane felt a growing sense of wrongness permeating the ship. She joined her parents for dinner in the mess hall, surprised to find the normally bustling space nearly empty, affording them an unusually private family meal.
Hannah discussed Jane's Academy prospects while Thomas ate quietly, occasionally adding insights about the responsibilities of command. The conversation felt both mundane and weighted with unspoken significance.
"Your test scores are exemplary," Hannah said, reviewing Jane's academic records on her datapad. "Combined with your practical experience growing up on Alliance vessels, you're an ideal candidate. The selection board would be foolish to pass you over."
"Your mother's right," Thomas added, his fork pausing halfway to his mouth. "But remember, Jane—the Academy is just the beginning. It's what you do with that training that matters."
Jane nodded, though her attention was caught by movement across the mess hall. The mysterious boy sat at a distant table, watching her family. This time, he didn't disappear when she looked directly at him. Their eyes met briefly before a group of officers walked between them, and when they passed, he was gone again.
Thomas set down his utensils, his expression turning serious. "What makes a good officer, Jane? Is it tactical brilliance? Technical expertise?"
The question seemed to come from nowhere, interrupting Hannah's discussion of application deadlines. Jane considered it carefully.
"Those things matter," she said slowly, "but I think what makes a good officer is knowing when to follow orders and when to question them. Understanding the difference between completing a mission and fulfilling its purpose."
Thomas nodded, a hint of pride in his eyes. "And what about when those two things conflict? When completing the mission might cost your crew? Or when saving your people might mean abandoning your objective?"
Hannah frowned slightly, as if the conversation had taken an unexpected turn. Jane felt the weight of her father's question—it wasn't hypothetical, not entirely.
"I think..." Jane began, choosing her words carefully, "I think a good officer finds a way to do both whenever possible. And when it's not possible, they make the hard choice and live with the consequences."
Thomas studied her face. "If the call came, Jane, and answering meant you might not come back—would you still go?"
The question hung between them, heavy with premonition. Hannah looked between her husband and daughter, concern etching lines around her eyes.
"Thomas, what's this about? You're worrying me."
He waved away her concern, his eyes still fixed on Jane. "Just a philosophical discussion. The kind officers have been having since navies first sailed Earth's oceans."
But Jane felt the significance behind his words, the weight of a question that wasn't merely philosophical. "I would go," she said finally. "If people needed me, if I could make a difference—I would answer the call."
As the evening progressed, the ship's anomalies intensified. Walking back to their quarters, Jane heard announcements over the comm system in voices that blended and shifted mid-sentence, starting in her father's authoritative tone and ending in unfamiliar voices—some human, some distinctly not.
Corridor layouts changed when she wasn't looking directly at them. A turn she knew led to the science labs suddenly opened into the shuttle bay. Equipment appeared modern one moment and outdated the next—sleek interfaces giving way to bulkier, more primitive controls when she blinked.
Jane accessed a terminal near their quarters, checking the ship's position. The navigation display showed multiple contradictory locations simultaneously—their current patrol route near the Exodus Cluster, an approach vector to Mindoir, and impossible coordinates in deep space beyond any charted relay.
"This can't be right," she muttered, turning to a passing officer. "Lieutenant, the nav system is showing multiple positions. We can't be in three places at once."
The woman looked at Jane with confusion, then at the terminal, which now displayed only their patrol route. "Everything looks normal to me. Are you feeling alright, Jane? Maybe you should see Dr. Winslow."
Jane nodded absently, noting that the doctor's name had reverted to the one she remembered. "Maybe I will. Thanks."
In their family quarters, Hannah had already retired for the night, preparing for an early shift. Thomas was working at his personal terminal, brow furrowed in concentration. Jane glanced over his shoulder, catching fragments of a message before he noticed her presence:
"...concerns about artifacts discovered on the border worlds... evidence suggests non-human origin... recommend increased security measures for Mindoir specifically... will continue to monitor the situation..."
The message was addressed to someone identified only as "Illusive."
Thomas quickly blanked the screen. "Jane. Didn't hear you come in."
"What was that?" she asked. "Who's 'Illusive'?"
Her father's expression closed off, becoming the professional mask he wore as Captain. "Just Alliance business. Nothing for you to worry about."
The terms in the message—artifacts, non-human origin—felt significant though Jane didn't fully understand why. She wanted to press further, but Thomas stood, effectively ending the conversation.
"You should get some rest," he said, his tone gentler. "Tomorrow's another day."
As the night cycle began, Jane lay in her bed, unable to sleep. The ship's lighting had dimmed appropriately, but strange shadows moved in the periphery of her vision whenever she closed her eyes. A growing sense of dread built in her chest—something was coming, something important, but she couldn't articulate what.
The ship's alert system activated with a sudden blare, startling Jane fully awake. She jumped from her bed, expecting to hear about a distress call from Mindoir—though she couldn't explain why she anticipated that specific emergency.
Instead, the announcement was calm, almost ceremonial: "Attention all hands. Diplomatic shuttle approaching. Senior officers report to the shuttle bay for greeting protocol. Honor guard assemble."
The incongruity struck Jane deeply. This wasn't right—this wasn't what happened. They should be receiving desperate pleas for help from colonists under attack, not preparing to welcome diplomats.
She dressed quickly and left her quarters, finding the corridors bustling with activity despite the late hour. Officers in dress uniforms moved purposefully toward the shuttle bay, while others manned stations with heightened alertness.
Jane spotted her father ahead, his Captain's uniform immaculate, walking with determined steps. She ran to catch up with him.
"Dad, wait! Something's wrong. This isn't—" She struggled to articulate the certainty burning in her mind. "This isn't what's supposed to happen."
Thomas paused, turning to face her. His expression was both tender and resolute. "Some things happen differently across the universes, Jane. But some calls must be answered, no matter the reality."
"What does that mean?" She grabbed his arm. "Dad, please. Don't go to the shuttle bay."
For a moment, he seemed to truly see her—not as his teenage daughter, but as something more. "You've grown so much," he said softly. "Become so much more than I could have imagined. I'm proud of you, Jane. Remember that."
He gently removed her hand from his arm and continued toward the shuttle bay, joining other senior officers in the procession. Jane followed, a sense of inevitability weighing on her steps.
The shuttle bay doors stood open as she arrived, but beyond them was not the expected diplomatic shuttle. Instead, a swirling void of stars and darkness stretched infinitely, nothing like the contained space of a docked vessel. The officers ahead of her didn't seem to notice the impossibility, walking in formation toward the opening.
Thomas stood at the threshold, his back straight, his posture perfect as he prepared to greet whatever lay beyond. He turned to Jane one last time, his expression both resolute and sad.
"Some calls must be answered, no matter the universe," he repeated, his voice carrying clearly despite the strange acoustics of the bay.
For a moment, his features shifted, resembling someone else—older, more weathered, with the authority of an admiral rather than a captain. The face was both familiar and strange, a man she knew but couldn't place.
As Jane tried to follow, she found herself unable to move, frozen in place as her father walked into the void. She struggled against the invisible force holding her, desperate to reach him before he disappeared into the starscape.
The mysterious boy appeared beside the bay doors, watching impassively as Thomas vanished into the darkness. His young face betrayed no emotion, merely curious observation of the scene unfolding before him.
The ship around them began to dissolve at the edges, reality becoming thin and permeable. Walls faded to transparency, revealing stars beyond. The deck beneath Jane's feet lost solidity, becoming ghostly and insubstantial.
"Wait!" she called out, her voice sounding distant even to her own ears. "Dad! Come back!"
But Thomas was gone, swallowed by the void. The Einstein continued to dissolve around her, decades of memories unraveling like thread from a spool.
The last thing Jane saw before the scene faded completely was the boy turning to look directly at her, his expression shifting from childlike curiosity to ancient understanding. His eyes held knowledge far beyond his apparent years, as if he were merely wearing the form of a child like a borrowed coat.
The shuttle bay, the Einstein, and her teenage self all dissolved into darkness as the dream began to transition, reality bending once more around Jane Shepard's consciousness.
Thanks again for reading! As I said in the last chapter, this chapter officially kicks off Act 1. I'm hoping to post new chapters every Friday!
Please leave a review and let me know what you think!