Humans spanned the stars. Empires rose, each holding countless stars of their own. Noone wanted for anything. Then worlds began to go dark.
20 years later, the surviving remnants of humanity sail through the Andromeda Galaxy with no way home and no...
"What the hell was that Shea? You know you can't act like that, where did that come from?!"
Hannibal stood in front of Shea in the empty hallway between the bridge and the CIC, seeming to tower over him despite being only a couple inches taller than Shea.
"I... Ugh," groaned Shea, running a hand through his greasy, unkempt hair while avoiding Hannibal's gaze. "Come on Ham, cut me a break ok? You know I don't like their type, and for star's sake, you damn well know what today is!" His voice started out just tired and weary, but the last part came out cold and hard.
"Yeah I do, Shea, and that is why I asked you a week ago if you could handle it. You told me you could."
"Yeah, I thought I could, I was clearly wrong!"
Only the briefest moment of surprise crossed Hannibal's face at Shea's shout before it turned into long-weary concern, but deep caring. Some of the staff in the CIC and Bridge who were close enough to hear however nearly jumped out of their skin, and one young comms officer had her head turned around so far in her station, that she looked as if she was risking a kink in her neck.
"Look, I can't do anything about today. We all have tried to find ways to help you cope with it, but it's not something that gets easier to bear without a great deal of time. But regardless of that, you are looked up to here. You have a voice that carries meaning! You need to promise me that you will do your best to represent your station properly, ok?"
"Gah, fine, I'll do my best. Why do I feel like I'm getting talked down to by my mother? You should be a lot shorter if you're going to do that, and you'll need to do something about that deep voice."
"Only the voice and height? Well I guess I've got it in the bag then!" Hannibal chuckled. "And since when do you not like their type? That's pretty laughable coming from you. We both know what line of work you used to be in." Hannibal let out a deep, honeyed laugh, and gave Shea a swatting pat on the shoulder. Shea did return the laughter in full, but begrudgingly let out a chuckle, one that some might even have to call mildly earnest.
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// encrypted transmission originating from the EPF Roosevelt //
" This is ~~~~~ One reporting in, requesting priority secure channel to the ~~~ ~~~~~~."
["~~~~~ One, this is H~~~~. Your connection has been received, and your line is secure. Please submit your authorization code." ]
"Confirmation code: OSCAR - DELTA - FOUR - SIX - FOXTROT - HOTEL"
[" Your authorization code has been accepted. Await connection." ]
*click*
["Report." ]
...
The Shadowed figure poised so casually against the bulkhead wall watched as Admiral Burke and the Doctor argued, and then shared a warm laugh; even if the Doctor's did not last long. Shortly after, the Admiral went into his ready-room off the Bridge, but their eyes followed the Doctor as he passed the lifts that headed to his office and instead made his way down an empty side path towards the bowels of the ship. As the doctor turned the corner, the figure pushed themself off the wall and paced silently after them.
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As he made his way down the corridor, the dull echoes of his footsteps were the only thing that accompanied Shea. No one ever came down this way, other than him. There was even a clear path in the slight layer of dust that had managed to accumulate even despite the ship's advanced filtration systems. He passed by door after door, ignoring each one as the hallway became more and more derelict.
Some time later, he reached a large door with rounded corners and a large wheel instead of a handle. He took a moment in front of the door, placing his hand on the wheel's up-most spoke as he took a deep breath, his eyes closed.
"You know, door handles have been around for quite a while. That just looks like way too much work for the same result!"
Shea spun around at the sound of the voice, his body already primed for a surprise. He'd felt a tickle at the back of his neck from shortly after he left the bridge but he'd been unable to place what had caused it. Standing across from him, leaning with one shoulder against the opposite bulkhead, was the young Sergeant from the meeting, a cocky grin across their face.
He steeled himself and quickly calmed his breathing. He had no clue how they had been able to follow him, but he wouldn't let them put him at a disadvantage. Something about them stood out odd to him though, but he avoided the temptation to look them up and down with scrutiny.
"I think it would be best to introduce yourself, Sergeant." He said with the calmest voice he could muster. It still held a sharp edge, and he was perfectly content with that.
They let out another chuckle and it was that which clued him in, just before they took off their cap. Somehow, in his haste to ignore this representative of the INC, he had done too good of a job at pretending they didn't exist. As if looking at them for the first time, the grey mannequin suddenly turned into an attractive young woman.
As the cap came off, a long golden braid fell out to rest halfway down their back, and her ice blue eyes and nordic jawline paired with it to paint a striking picture.
Back on Earth, the Nordic countries were relatively isolated, a brisk paradise with a high quality and equally high cost of living. With the advent of the new colonial era, the International Nordic Council was among the first to reach new stars. However, while the INC had some of the smartest men, women, and others on earth, they did not have the manpower to maintain the industry needed to keep up with the other larger powers who were pushing further out into the stars.
Unlike the other powers at the forefront of colonizing the Orion Arm, their dominance lay elsewhere and they were not slow to collect on the opportunity in front of them. By then renamed to the Interstellar Nordic Council, they were irrefutably dominant in elite military capabilities. Soon, the INC made its fortune selling small, elite, and extremely capable contracted mercenary forces across the stars. From the young woman's insignia and stance, he knew he was very much looking at one of those specialists now.
The hairs on the back of Shea's neck stood as he locked eyes with the Sergeant across from him. She had her shirt slung over her shoulder with one finger, displaying her now-obvious and well muscled physique through her gray-blue tank top. She gave a quick quirk of her eyebrows and the corner of her mouth before pushing off the wall and extending a hand to Shea, which he pointedly did not take.
"Sergeant First Class Freyja Evensen, a pleasure." She stood there for a moment, looking at Shea, her hand, then back to Shea, she slowly put her hand down. "I am going to be the liaison for the coming mission. After the events," she gave a slight, deliberate pause to emphasize the word, "at the meeting, I felt it would be good of us to know each other better. Something told me that some air needed to be clear." Even with her well-schooled, diplomatic wording, there was still a slight hint of the grin in her voice.
After a pregnant pause, Shea responded, his tone remaining cold and dry. He still refused to acknowledge the previously proffered handshake. "Let's talk inside."
