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Alarms blared, readouts outlined in red portended the Passaro’s imminent demise. It was impossible for one person to take in all the information obscuring the viewscreen and every control panel on the bridge. Mariner got the gist, it was the polite data-centric way of saying you’re fucked, chief, complete with color coding.
Mariner’s eyes took in the most important reports, swiping over the text in a speedy info-triage. Locarno’s last shot had ruptured a warp nacelle and knocked the warp core offline. Shit, she thought. That latter one robbed the Passaro of its most potent source of extra power. No last-second shield-juicing, no impulse engine-overclocking, no microjumps. With the shields flagging, structural integrity severely compromised and Locarno’s ship prowling the cloud, she was almost out of moves (that didn’t involve surrender, not an option.
Mariner had but one choice, if she didn’t want this brazen escape to whimper out with a sheepish here’s your bomb back, sorry I stole and got wrecked the one Starfleet vessel you had, also how did you get your hands on a limited-edition experimental testbed class? Get rid of the Genesis Device (or G.D., as she’d taken to mentally shortening it).
The bomb disposal options lined themselves up in her brain, and she ran a red marker through each as they appeared. Disable its wiring? She wasn’t confident she could beyond any hope of repair. Activate it and beam it far away? Nope, the excited energy generated by the startup sequence prevented transportation. Put it in a shuttlecraft on autopilot? No time to rig up the shuttle’s autopilot, plus Nick would be on it like a flash. Set it up and then escape via pod or craft? Ditto on the time, plus he could beam in and turn it back off. Go to town on it with a wrench? She took pride in arm day, but that plating was tough. Put it on a shuttlecraft, rig it to blow and set the autopilot? Time, time, time. Something she was out of.
No, the best way to get rid of a bomb is to set it off, of course. Mariner would normally relish such a course of action.
It was just that this option required the pleasure of her company.
“Okay, okay, yeah, I’m okay with this, it’s okay.” Mariner rushed through the start-up sequence, not minding the particulars of what her planet would look like or tossing any from hell’s heart I stab at thee’s at the lurking Locarno. Was the nearby planetoid big enough to become an M-class planet, even with the materials in its rings? She hoped so.
But that wasn’t why she was setting it, so it didn’t matter. A few beeps, a confirming hum and several snaps as the rings inserted into the device, and a new planet was on the way. Mariner sat back on her haunches, trying to not dwell on the process that would result in that planet.
“Hehh. It’s done. Whooh! Do good, little G.D.,” Mariner said, slapping the device with the back of her palm. She winced. “Bomb, right. Ahh, why am I being touchy? Gonna go off anyway, right?”
Mariner walked around the bridge, taking deep breaths. Past conn, past the static-y viewscreen, past ops. Past the dedication plaque, which bore the ship’s motto: “Art evokes the mystery without which the world would not exist.” - René Magritte. Then back to the center of the bridge.
With careful intent, Mariner settled into the captain’s chair. She ran her hands over the arms, over the touch-pads, cool metal and smooth leather. “You know,” she said, “a long time ago, sitting right here was my dream. Okay, maybe not right here, because the Sabrerunner-class was still a highly-classified prototype – you get what I mean, G.D.”
G.D. did not respond, but it did glow more intensely and start letting off steam.
“Not a chatter, huh, Number One? That’s all right, I can chat enough for an entire bridge crew. I’m told I do a killer impression of Ransom. I should, after all the time I spent training under him.” Mariner let out a breath.
“The captain’s chair was my dream for the longest time. I didn’t, like, want the most glorious ship as a pie-in-the-sky dream. Galaxy-class’d be nice, but at the time I’d have loved a Challenger, a Cheyenne, hell, the Miranda’s an adorable motherfucker. More than enough of them to go around. G.D., did you know the Miranda-class is the single most-produced starship in Starfleet history? Only one that comes close is the Excelsior, and it’s like a third behind.”
Mariner sighed and stared out into space, filtered through the purple static of the ion storm’s interference.
“What happened? Well, I only just realized, and man, do I have a lot of self-work to do on that. I won’t get into it, we’ve got what, three minutes and change left? And, heh, you’re looking a little overheated, no offense.”
The glow was getting uncomfortable to look directly at, the hum becoming piercingly loud and the fog it let off starting to obscure her vision.
“Okay, honestly…. Maybe impending death brings clarity after all. Truth it, I’m not okay with this, G.D. That’s the truth, oh god.” She swallowed thickly. “I wanna say that I’m chill, that I’m all zen and accepting, needs of the many and the few or the one and all the Vulcan stuff, that blowing you up is the only real choice, and I’m peaceful with that. I want to be able to say that and mean it. But I set you off because Nicky-boy cannot have you, G.D.”
Mariner laced her fingers together in her lap, fighting a tickle in her throat. She did not want to think about what was in those vapors. She got the distinct feeling that it wasn’t meant to be set off with lungs around – and that wasn’t even touching what the Ferengi might have put in it. Not that it would matter for her long-term health… Okay, maybe that tickle wasn’t just the fumes.
“Dr. Arocha, the professor who oversaw my Kobayashi Maru, they said that sometimes the scenario isn’t about facing death per se, but finding a sense of inevitability and acceptance. That’s where I am right now, G.D. I could hail Nick’s ship right now and hand you over, he’d let me live. Probably. But how many possible lives would that endanger?”
Mariner nodded to herself. “It’s not about there being only one choice. It’s knowing that if you don’t choose the sacrifice, you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself otherwise.”
She sat quietly for a moment, mulling over her loved ones. This she couldn’t bring herself to voice, even to the G.D. confessional. how she would lose Brad, Tendi, Sam, her mom, her dad, even Ransom. Or rather, they would lose her . Beckett Mariner would be gone. She’d be incapable of missing anyone. The thought of not existing had always been a little weird to her, but the Dominion War and countless brushes with death, self-prompted and otherwise, had robbed that of its sting.
Mariner shifted in the captain’s chair, sitting up straighter. She smoothed her hand over the leather and metal on the chair’s arm, over the little display with way too much red text on it. She gently curled her fingers over the top of the manual control column – Brad would insist she call it that and not the joystick it clearly was – and looked out over the bridge. A determined grin parted her lips, her brow creasing with resolve.
“For now, for this… how long has it been? Got to have been an hour – the Passaro has been mine. If you could talk, G.D., I’m sure you’d argue that it’s not technically my command. I liberated it – not stole it, I can feel that look!” she pointed at the device with a mock-accusatory finger, “and maybe I’m more piloting than commanding but hell, if I’m gonna…”
Mariner swallowed, and took another bracing breath. “If I’m gonna die out here, have my figurative ashes mixed into the creation of a new world? Then this was my command. For this hour – yeah, I’m gonna say hour – I was in command. I chose this. I didn’t want this, don’t want this, but I chose it.”
She let out a small laugh and smiled tersely. “I spent these last couple months trying to die, I guess you could say. I didn’t want to die, but I know it looked like it from the outside. Self-destructive behavior, you know how it goes. And now that I’m, I don’t know, wanting to re-dedicate myself to Starfleet ideals or something inspirational like that, I’m gonna die. Some fun, sick irony there. ”
She looked out the main viewscreen, trying to picture what her planet would look like. Would they name it after her? She hoped it evolved some sick arachnids, maybe one would get named after her too!
“All that said, I’m ready, I guess.” With a last bracing breath, she glanced at the timer. Then blinked and stared in disbelief. “What, 90 seconds to go? Man, I should’ve paced that speech better. Guess we have another minute together, G.D. What do you say we try a bit of medita-”
The glistening hum of a transporter beam interrupted the moment. Mariner didn’t even have to look to know it was Locarno.
Mariner rolled her eyes. “Ah hell, Nick. You really know how to break a dramatic mood.”