Chapter Text
The vastness of space is paralleled only by the determination of humanity to seek its secrets, to count its stars, to journey far beyond what the eye can see. Over several hundred years, humanity's foothold in the galaxy grew, expanded into the blackness, and in it they found new lives to live as their intelligence led them into hyperspace travel. Spaceships soared, jumping from galaxy to galaxy, exploring the endlessness and all it beheld.
Among those twinkling lights in the sky, there were many captains of ships, serving various purposes. Some flew for peace, enforcing intergalactic law and order, hunting down deviants with laser precision. Some flew for knowledge, mapping out the planets they visited, landing on ground no man or woman had ever set foot on before, making their mark known in the history books. Some flew for profit, legal or illegal, seeking out riches one way or another.
This however, is a tale of bravery, of mystery, of a search for glory in what seems unattainable, men grasping at a ghost lurking in the shadows of deep space. Among the thousands of spaceships flying in the black, one ever-evasive vessel lurks somewhere in the universe's depths. The Stanley Cup, as it was named by its original designer, was once a massive dreadnaught from humanity's original traversal into space. For an era, it dominated the stars, its crew made of the best and brightest, but mysteriously it vanished with nothing but vague radio transmissions left in its wake. Original searches were far and wide, and there were inklings of Stanley lost somewhere in unmapped space.
Over the hundreds of years that humanity continued its expansion, the Stanley Cup's disappearance grew more and more grandiose. Tales were spun of how it vanished and why, but all that anyone knew was that whoever managed to find the ghost ship would be sung of for the ages. Would it be riches they would receive? Military secrets kept hidden on the ship? Firepower to rule the stars? Scientific discovery? No one knew, and that was the enticing part.
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The crew of The Bruin was one of such groups, called Seekers, who sought the Stanley Cup and whatever lay within it. It was a bulky old ship, exterior patched and rough from a century of navigating the stars. Its black painted hull was chipped and scuffed revealing the titanium beneath, the golden trimmings around the windows dulled in some spots. Embossed onto both sides of the rectangular hull, the visage of a grizzly bear from Old Earth. On the bottom of the hull, a giant black B, outlined in yellow, and with eight yellow spokes extending outwards, contained by a black circle.
Newly Captained by one infamous Bradley Marchand, The Bruin had not been the same since the disappearance of perhaps the most well-received Captain in the galaxies, Patrice Bergeron. Some would say The Bruin had taken a downgrade in its cockpit since then, but the ship remained as stalwart as ever. The once scattered crew, distraught over Bergeron's disappearance, had come together with new blood. They brought new life into the old bays of the creaking ship, and despite the absence of their trusted leader, they managed to knit themselves into a crew more than capable of continuing to seek out Stanley.
24 men made up the crew of The Bruin, some old, some new. Captain Marchand had been a member for many years, seeing many faces come and go, but none had hurt so much as seeing the man he considered his best and closest friend disappear after being ejected into the vacuum of space, lost in the abyss.
The Bruin's cargo hold, carrying potent fuel as part of a shipment they would have soon sold to a vendor, had ignited during fierce combat with pirates, Captain Bergeron inside it when the flames had erupted. He had gone down to attempt emergency repairs, leaving Bradley in command while the rest of the crew manned the guns and did repairs elsewhere, but the pirates targeted the hold. Unable to escape, Patrice had to choose between two fates. Burn alive, or instruct his second-in-command to jettison the cargo bay by detaching it entirely from the ship. In doing so, it would rescue the ship from catastrophic destruction from the fuel's inevitable explosion, but it would eject him with it.
Knowing they were only seconds away from the entire ship being decimated, Marchand did what he had to do. He detached the cargo bay using an emergency control protocol on the ship, and with it, his beloved Captain Patrice Bergeron.
It was only seconds later that the fuel in the jettisoned cargo bay ignited, and a massive explosion struck the rear of The Bruin, knocking out the functionality of the hyperdrive and several key systems. However, the pursuing pirates were destroyed in the explosion too, and so Bradley piloted the critically damaged Bruin to the nearest settled planet, and landed the ship hard on the concrete landing pad.
“What… what the hell did you do…?” An exhausted David Krejci had asked, approaching Bradley in the cockpit. He was in disbelief that he’d heard Bergeron’s voice over the radio, telling the 2nd in command to jettison the cargo bay with the Captain still in it.
“I did what I had to. I did what he told me to. I don’t want to talk about it.” Brad struggled to keep his composure, gripping the arms of the pilot’s seat. He thought of what was now his crew. “... is everyone else okay?”
Krejci was quiet for a moment. “Okay…?” He shook his head. “No. But we will live for now.”
Marchand turned to look over his shoulder. David was covered in blood. “What happened to you? Krech, you need a medic!” Bradley hurriedly stood to go to his comrade’s aid. David held his hands up to stop him.
“It’s not my blood. I was tending to the others while you found a place to land… The med bay is full. We have no stock left. Brad… We need supplies.”
“Okay… Okay. Let’s get the wounded off the ship. How many? Who are they?”
An objective in the forefront of his mind had distracted him temporarily from the devastating loss he’d just experienced. One by one the Bruin was cleared of its wounded men, and received to a small hospital.
The bedraggled crew took many months to recover. Some decided to call it quits on spacefaring, most namely David Krejci, who would have been Brad’s second in command. He had simply seen enough near-death experiences and trauma in his lifetime, and wanted to be with his family.
Others left to be employed on other ships, not able to bring themselves to return to such a high-profile ship that was often targeted for attack. New faces, however, saw the ship rise from the ashes, and signed on to the roster with hope for new adventure. Some were journeymen who had come from other known Seeker ships, like The Duck, The Flyer, and The Kraken.
Now The Bruin flew proudly once more, but there was always a lingering ache in the back of Marchand's mind. An absence that he couldn't shake. They'd searched the debris once the ship was flight-worthy, they'd tried to find some evidence of their Captain's body, somewhere in that battlefield. But there was nothing but twisted metal drifting through space, scorched and melted.
Bradley had loved Patrice. Had planned to propose to him, had planned to spend his life among these stars with him; he still held onto the ring he'd wanted to give him. In some ways, having it made him feel less alone. It didn't help that Patrice's son, Matthew Poitras, had joined the crew the prior year, and had witnessed the tragic event too. Every time he looked at Matty, he saw shades of Patrice. They looked different; Matthew had certainly received more of his mother's genes, but the way he behaved, the way he smiled, the brightness in his eyes... It made Bradley's heart ache. But he would never, ever kick that boy off his crew to avoid that pain. That would be selfish and unreasonable, and someday he'd be in this seat too. Captain of The Bruin, just like his father had been.
The Bruin's current mission at hand was to procure a new hyperdrive; one capable of taking them much farther out into unmapped space. To do so, they needed a lot more money. The repairs to even get The Bruin flying again had cost them much of their reserve, and now they needed to replenish what they'd lost and then some. So, as any well-armed ship did, they took on jobs for various companies, running cargo or taking out bounties with the promise of payment.
As they flew along course for a planetary system that was marked only as a string of letters and numbers, the crew had downtime, as they were transporting supplies from one destination to another. Some rested in their quarters, of which there were 30 personal quarters on the ship. Others monitored vital ship systems, though it was not always necessary especially when they were in safe airspace.
Linus Ullmark and Jeremy Swayman were two shield systems maintenance crew members, in charge of making sure that the Bruin’s hull was well-protected at all times, managing the energy levels and fixing the shield generator if anything happened to it. The two were a recent tandem to join the crew but were well-liked, and they liked each other just as much.
The two were resting in their shared quarters; there were two beds, one against each side of the room. In the center was a table, bolted to the floor, and a handful of chairs. The walls were decorated with all sorts of bits and pieces of each man’s history. Jeremy, the younger of the two, had a pennant from the shield technician school he’d attended, and the first mask he’d worn back then. Shield techs, as they were often called, had to wear masks and bulky armor that protected their eyes, bodies, and faces from the dangerous energy levels inside the shield generator room.
Linus, on the other hand, was much more experienced. He’d spent a long tenure on a ship called The Sabre, and had relics of his time there decorating his side of the room. His old masks, old patches from his uniform, and other trinkets from his several years spent on the other ship.
Jeremy lounged in his bed, while Linus read news on his datapad at the table.
“Hey, did you hear about this?” Linus asked. “The Coyote allegedly hasn’t paid their station for the six months it was docked in repairs.”
Jeremy chuckled, shaking his head. “Last I heard they couldn’t even afford the repairs in the first place and are working with a skeleton crew. I feel bad for those guys. I wonder why they stick around.”
“Yeah, says here they were thinking of scrapping the ship altogether to be able to pay their debts. Wonder what made them change their mind.” Linus scrolled through the datapad curiously.
“Probably managed to scrape up enough from odd jobs on their dev ship to tide off authorities.” Jeremy shrugged his shoulders. A development ship, also known as a dev ship, was a smaller ship manned by usually inexperienced crew who were still in training to be a part of a larger ship. Development ships were typically much cheaper to manage financially, and sometimes these ships were relied upon as backups for their lead ship. For the Bruin, that was a ship called Providence.
“Probably. Speaking of, have you talked to anyone on the Prov lately?” Ullmark looked over at his companion. “Last I heard, Bussi and DiPietro were doing well. Shame that Keyser is kind of being tossed to the wayside, but at least he’s staying on the Providence to learn instead of seeking a different ship. And speaking of seeking a different ship, I heard that Kinkaid has been all over the place since he left.”
“Yeah I talked to them the other day, they were on their way to dock back in the Sol System for some cargo sales. They haven’t seen too much action, but they’re solid. And yeah, Kinkaid has been all over… Last I heard he was on the Devil, but the Devil already had two good shield techs, so they bumped him off, but he didn’t go to the Comet. I actually think he may have signed on with a merc ship, which is wild. I never took him for a mercenary.”
“That’s crazy.” Linus shook his head. “That’s so dangerous. I can’t imagine how desperate someone has to be for a job that they sign on with mercs.”
Jeremy shrugged his shoulders. “I mean, if you get bumped around a lot you aren’t making consistent money. You gotta get it from somewhere. If you’re living off of pennies and especially if you have a family like he does, you gotta try to make quick cash.”
“Yeah, but he’s really taking a risk of losing his life there. He could have gone and signed on with a cargo crew or something instead.” Ullmark set his datapad down, leaning back in his chair. “The mercs must have made him a good offer.”
“Must have.” The younger shield tech agreed, a quiet falling over the room.
Suddenly, an alarm rang out. A steady, repeating klaxon. That could only mean one thing; the Bruin was under attack.
While Jeremy and Linus scrambled to the shield systems bay, where their heavy duty protective gear awaited them in lockers, the crew quickly manned their posts.
Captain Marchand, at the cockpit, declared over the PA system in the ship; “Attention crew, we are being targeted by none other than the Canadien. Man your stations, and let’s see what these assholes want.”
Bradley pulled up an open communication channel that was quickly picked up by the Captain of the Canadien, a fellow Seeker ship and longtime rival of the Bruin.
“Suzuki, buddy, it’s unlike you to pick a fight like this. What gives?” The Bruin Captain asked. The Canadien ship had just come out of hyperspace, and immediately armed itself, cannons turned to face the traveling Bruin.
“Oh you know, just thought I’d say hello, Marchand. I don’t know if you know, but we’ve still got a score to settle.” Nick Suzuki was the young, talented Captain of the Canadien, the youngest in the ship’s history in fact. He made up for his lack of experience in ferocity and quick decision making.
“Oh so you want us to kick your ass again? You just wasted a ton of fuel jumping through hyperspace to find us just to have to turn around and run!” Bradley taunted.
“You run your mouth too much.” The comm channel was disconnected from Suzuki’s side, and the Canadien opened fire seconds later. Bright red laser cannons fired through the blackness of space, slamming into the shields that protected the Bruin. The Canadien ship had about a dozen high-velocity laser guns mounted on the top and bottom of the ship, overpowering shields with pure volume if an enemy wasn’t careful.
“Open fire!” Marchand commanded his crew, steering his massive ship to attempt to get better positioning on the Canadien.
The Bruin’s cannons were a combo of laser and plasma, with one massive railgun on top of the ship. Aiming and charging it took time, but it could rip through a ship’s hull if the shields weren’t up. One David Pastrnak was the man who ran the railgun, seemingly effortlessly.
“Cap, two minutes to railgun charge.” Pastrnak informed from his station at the top of the ship.
“Good, I’ll keep her steady. Ully, Sway,” Marchand changed his attention to the shield techs that had gone down to their generator room. “How are we looking?”
“Shields at one-hundred, holding firm.” Ullmark responded.
“Let me know if we see a breach. I’ll evade if necessary while you guys do your thing.”
“You got it, Cap.”
For new spacefarers, combat could seem especially scary when fighting a fellow Seeker ship. It was often very intense and filled with danger, and it was not uncommon for crew to get severely wounded. However, there was a code of honor among Seekers. They rarely destroyed each other’s ships entirely, mostly aiming to disable them. There were a few ships who had been destroyed in the past, such as the Thrasher, whose surviving crew scattered to all different Seekers. It was considered a stain on the humanity of a Seeker ship to outright destroy another. Only a few ships were credited with destroying another, namely the Red Wing, who destroyed the first incarnation of the Jet, the Penguin, who destroyed the Thrasher, and the Star, who destroyed the first incarnation of the Coyote. Ships that were destroyed had a habit of popping back up only a few months later, reborn from the surviving crew.
As the cannons from both the Bruin and the Canadien unleashed onto each other, the respective Captains maneuvered to attempt to gain better positioning to be able to avoid the guns of the other. The Canadien was an old ship, much like the Bruin, and it moved in much the same manner, bogged down by the weight of its creaking, century-old hull. What both lacked in mobility, however, they made up for in firepower and endurance.
“Railgun charged.” The communication from Pastrnak came, and Bradley looked out at the Canadien through his cockpit window. He needed to wait until the railgun could rip through their shields and damage their hull.
“Hold steady, wait for their shields to crack. They won’t hold much longer…” The Captain watched carefully for the sign of weakness in his enemy’s shields. Typically, a shield hit by a weapon rippled like a water droplet hitting a puddle, then recovered back to being smooth. The closer a shield was to breaking, the slower it recovered from those ripples. And when it shattered, it was like a sheet of ice breaking. A hole would open up, and slowly begin to repair itself- or rather, the shield technicians down below would be working to reamplify the shield to make it whole again.
Patience was a virtue for any combat-experienced Captain, and Bradley waited what felt like forever for an opening to appear. Finally, he saw it. The shield over the starboard side of the Canadien rippled, then split and opened up a gap, exposing the red-painted hull.
“Fire the railgun at that starboard break!” He commanded.
“Firing!” Within seconds of Pastrnak’s warning, the massive railgun on top of the Bruin fired, the kickback from the energy rolling the ship slightly onto its side, which was quickly corrected by the man at the helm. The railgun’s shot ripped a hole cleanly into the side of the Canadien, and moments later, the shield over the space was recovered.
“Direct hit, Cap. Recharging.” Pastrnak’s focus when sniping with that gun was second to none- his accuracy was feared by all Seekers. And god forbid he aim at a ship any smaller than a Seeker, because those ships would be destroyed before they ever had a chance to evade.
“Nice shot. Focus fire towards the rear, open up a hole in their engines. Let’s make sure they stop following us.”
As ordered, the gunners on the Bruin’s many weapons shifted their aim towards the rear of the Canadien’s ship. Captain Suzuki was no fool, and turned his ship at an angle to make it more difficult for the Bruin to target their engines. In doing so, however, the angle made it less likely for the Canadien to effectively focus fire enough to break the Bruin’s shields.
Suddenly, a blip appeared on the radar in front of Bradley, and coming out of hyperspace just in front of the Bruin was another ship. The blackness distorted and then shone in bright light, a massive blue and white ship with the symbol of a leaf on the side emerging. It was the Leaf, a third Seeker joining the fray.
“And here I was thinking it would just be the Bruin! Can’t be that lucky.” The Captain of the Leaf, one John Tavares, opened a channel of communication.
“You’re a real ass for parking your ship there, Johnny!” Bradley pulled hard on the wheel of the ship to steer it upwards to avoid collision with the Leaf. Meanwhile the Canadien was still firing away, Suzuki offering no communication on the open channel.
Being tracked down by two opposing Seekers could only mean that someone had tipped them off on their location. Marchand had seen it before, vendors handing out contracts, only to turn around and offer other crews the location of any given ship, for the right price. No price was too high if it meant taking out the competition who were searching for Stanley.
“Did that cargo vendor tip you guys off? How much did you pay him?” The Captain of the Bruin demanded an answer, incensed that now his crew was facing attack by two ships. Instead, he received silence, and the Leaf’s plasma cannons began beaming against the Bruin’s shields.
“Call up the Prov, we need them here now!” Bradley ordered on his crew’s channel. His second in command, Charlie McAvoy, would be the one to make contact. The Captain knew he needed reinforcements if he was going to get out of this in one piece. The shields wouldn’t hold very long at all no matter how much evasive maneuvering he did, and the hyperdrive needed time to charge.
Only a few moments later, McAvoy radioed to the cockpit. “Thirty minutes until they can jump here, Cap, they’re running cold.”
Marchand cursed under his breath. Running cold meant that the Providence did not have its hyperdrive running and charged. Usually that meant that they had been in orbit of a planet, either having recently left the surface, or were idling while the crew rested between missions. The Bruin did not have time to wait. Thirty minutes and they’d be entirely disabled.
“Forget it, we have to fight until our hyperdrive is charged, then we jump to safety!” He pressed several keys on his dashboard, then jammed the throttle of his ship forward, lurching the ship into high-speed, the Canadien and the Leaf pursuing. “Hold onto your helmets and keep those guns firing! Take the Canadien down first, aim for their engines! Once they’re disabled-”
The Captain’s orders were cut short, as more comms came from his crew.
“Breach, breach! Portside high guns exposed!” Ullmark warned, the shield cracking open at the left side of the ship towards the top where one of the rows of main guns resided. The Canadien had weakened that portion already, and the Leaf was capitalizing on it.
“Brace!” Marchand rolled the ship onto its side to protect the hole in the shield, allowing other portions of the shield to take the brunt of the continued fire from the opposing Seekers.
“Fuckers…” The Captain swore.
“Railgun charged!” Pastrnak said from below, even though he could not properly aim the gun with the way the ship was positioned.
“When I turn back, fire at the Canadien! Hold on guys, gonna make a one-eighty!” Marchand gave his crew a chance to brace themselves for real before grabbing the throttle and slamming the ship into neutral as he threw the wheel to the left, effectively turning the Bruin all the way around as it drifted forward with momentum. He then engaged the throttle immediately back to top speed, the powerful engines first stopping the Bruin dead in its tracks which would have sent anyone not strapped in straight into a wall, and then accelerating, now facing towards the chasing Seekers who both seemed to be ignoring each other in favor of taking down the Bruin.
Now with a new trajectory, the Bruin’s gunners fired back, the untouched shield on the starboard side now taking the brunt of the oncoming attack. This gave Ullmark and Swayman time to repair the hole in the portside shield.
“Firing!” Pastrnak called from below, and a second later, the familiar recoil of the railgun once more rolled the Bruin slightly, and was corrected by Marchand at the helm. Pastrnak’s timing was no less than fantastic, a hole having opened up in the Canadien’s shield split seconds before he’d fired, the railgun’s powerful shot slamming a hole straight into the thrusters of the opposing ship.
The Canadien slowed significantly, and peeled away from combat. Captain Suzuki was aiming to protect the ship now, rather than continue combat. A decisive and damaging blow from the Bruin had more or less ended that threat.
However, the Leaf remained. Tavares and his crew continued an onslaught of firepower. The Bruin, as hardly and durable as it was, could only withstand so much. They had to run, or else they’d be overpowered. Fighting one ship was enough, but both the Canadien and the Leaf at once was a recipe for destruction.
“Hyperdrive is ready, navigation set to sector 99!” McAvoy’s call came across the Bruin’s comms channel at just the right time. The Captain was quick to engage the systems, grabbing a bright red lever near his right hand and shoving it forward. Not two seconds later, the space around the nose of the ship distorted, and they were rocketed into a tunnel of warping streaks of color and light.
He pressed a few other buttons on his dashboard, and then released a sigh to relax himself, dropping his shoulders. He pressed a button to radio to his crew.
“Everyone alright? Any injuries to report?”
Various individuals responded, accounting for their associated crewmates. They’d made it out unscathed this time. But the question was, why had their contract vendor turned around and sold off their location to the opposing Seekers? And why would those Seekers be interested in targeting the Bruin on a contract that wasn’t high-profile? The cargo transport mission they were on wasn’t of anything particularly valuable, nor was the offered reward anything extravagant.
“McAvoy, Carlo, Pastrnak, meeting room now.” Marchand ordered. They’d be in hyperspace for a few minutes while going to Sector 99, which was considered the safest nearby retreat. It was a section of space with several settled galaxies, where old spacefarers often retired to. There was an unspoken rule of no combat being allowed there that even pirates respected- lest they be annihilated by a bunch of angry old timers who were enjoying peaceful retirement.
The Captain left the ship on autopilot, and exited the cockpit, heading out of the sliding door and out into the hallway perpendicular to the door. He turned to his left and entered a small conference room. There was a table in the middle with a holo-projector at the center of it, and chairs around it. The walls were decorated with the memorabilia of previous captains. Captain Chara’s rifle hung on the wall above the door, the gun itself much longer than standard due to the former Captain’s massive height. One of Captain Thornton’s helmets that had a hole in it from a bullet hitting it hung on one wall. Captain Bourque’s bodysuit was folded neatly and framed, displaying the 77 he chose to bear on his back, on another open space.
Bradley felt a pain in his chest when his eyes drifted to a well-worn brown shoulder guard with a spoked-B on it that hung in another spot. That had been Patrice’s. The Bruin had many traditions as far as uniforms went. All the crew wore the same yellow bodysuit and black armor. Crew members who passed their probationary period were given a pair of sturdy brown gloves that signified that they were willing to work hard for the ship and crewmates. Crew members of distinct honor and veteranship were given a brown shoulder guard with the ship’s emblem on it. On some occasions, crew members of honor would leave the ship, and come back later on. Those individuals had to re-earn their shoulder guard.
The sliding door to the room opened and the Captain peeled his eyes away from the decor on the walls. The three crew members he’d requested entered and took their seats. He could smell the scent of the weapon bay on Pastrnak as the man sat just adjacent to him.
“What do you think that was, Captain? Two other Seekers attacking us like that?” McAvoy asked as he sat down, leaning forward onto his elbows. Charlie was truly Marchand’s right hand man, and would likely be the next Captain of the Bruin if something were to happen to their current leader. Brandon Carlo was a strong and level-headed veteran on the Bruin, so he held much importance, but he had taken much trauma in the past and could be apprehensive at times. His skull was mostly made of metal, and he had one foot that was cybernetic.
Most crew members of any long amount of tenure had sustained injuries that cost them limbs; Bradley himself had two cybernetic legs from the hips down after an unfortunate incident with a landmine. But Brandon’s head was always of concern; he’d sometimes stare into space or black out and not remember things, but he did as much as he possibly could for the Bruin, and that’s why the Captain trusted him so wholeheartedly. Carlo ran the defensive systems under McAvoy’s supervision, while McAvoy did double duty as a defensive operator and navigator. It was as such that McAvoy was always nearest to the cockpit, and ready to take over if needed.
And then there was David Pastrnak. He was a gunner extraordinaire. There was simply no one more accurate on the Bruin, neither on or off the ship. He was a spitfire ginger-haired sniper with no hesitation on the trigger. That’s why he controlled the most vital and dangerous weapon the ship had. He was lead of the offensive systems, which was formerly Marchand’s own position in the crew.
“Well, if I had to guess I would say that the vendor sold us out to both ships.” Marchand crossed his arms over his chest. “But there’s really no good motive for it. We weren’t going into unknown space where there is any evidence Stanley’s possibly there. The cargo we are transporting is not very valuable. And the reward we’re getting is less on credit value than both ships spent on ammunition to take us down.”
“Maybe out of spite?” Carlo suggested. “Those are two of our biggest rival ships.”
Pastrnak fiddled with the fingertips of his gloves as he replied. “Maybe the vendor lied about the value to them?”
“Nah, I don’t think that Tavares or Suzuki are stupid enough to believe that vendor would have anything of real value.” Bradley scritched at the stubble on his chin as he thought.
“What if it wasn’t the vendor?” McAvoy furrowed his brow. “What if someone else tipped them off?”
“But who? No one other than that vendor should know where we’re going.” David tilted his head, confused. “Unless someone is tracking us.”
“Or there’s someone on the inside here who is feeding information out.” Carlo added.
The Captain shook his head. “No, I won’t even entertain that. I trust this crew entirely. It’s not someone from the inside.” He said firmly. “But there may be a possibility we’re being tracked by a third party, which I cannot have. Last thing we need is to be disabled again because we got attacked several times. We did just go through major repairs and had a lot of parts and systems put back together. Maybe one of the repair crew had something against us or got bribed. Let’s have everyone run systems diagnostics to check for bugs in software. If nothing turns up, we move on and look for ticks.”
“Checking the whole ship for ticks? Do you realize how long that will take?” Pastrnak looked unsure. Ticks was a generalized term referring to small pieces of hardware that could be attached virtually anywhere on a ship to track location within a certain range. Short-range ticks were usually only usable in a single planetary system and had very limited battery life. Those were usually stuck to the exterior of a ship and could be removed easily. High-quality long-range ticks were extremely expensive, and could be placed virtually anywhere inside and out of a ship. It wasn’t unheard of for a ship to receive a tick from a replacement part, if the repair technician was bribed or coerced. Software trackers were more limited, and could typically be found pretty easily by running diagnostic sequences.
“If we’re being tracked, we need to find it. So let’s get it done.” Marchand affirmed decisively. “Go have the crew start checking diagnostics. I’ll run mine in the cockpit. If no one comes up with anything, we move on to ticks.”
“Alright then. Captain’s orders, let’s go.” Charlie got up from the table and moved to exit the room, followed by Carlo. David lingered, looking over at his helmsman.
“Do you really think it’s a tracker, Marchy?” He asked, not questioning his orders so much as he was in tune with the man in front of him. He’d check for bugs in the software of the gunnery systems and check for ticks if he had to, but he got the feeling that this was just busy work. Brad paused for a moment, then shook his head.
“I don’t. I think we’re being targeted, but I don’t think it’s a tracker. I want to be wrong though. That’s why I’m checking everything else first.” He stood up from the chair, walking across the room to the door that slid open when he got close. Glancing over his shoulder, he realized his gunner hadn’t moved from the table.
“What’s bothering you, David?” Bradley didn’t make a habit of calling his crew by their first names, but it was clear that something was on his crewmate’s mind. Pastrnak glanced to the side, then shook his head as if to dismiss the thought.
“It’s not your concern, Captain. I’m fine. It won’t be a problem.” The lead gunner stood up quickly, heading past Marchand, down the hallway and out of the bridge. No doubt that there was something going on in the man’s head, but as he tracked the exiting man with narrowed eyes, the Captain had no reason not to trust that the ginger-haired man wouldn’t work through it. If he needed help, he’d ask for it.
Walking the short distance back to the cockpit, Bradley took a seat in his chair and began tapping away at the digital screen to his left, bright green text he barely needed to read rolling down the screen as he initiated a diagnostic sequence for the systems in the cockpit. While that was running, he pulled up the holomap on the dashboard and viewed the nearby planets. They may as well land somewhere for the crew to rest safely. He selected a small planet nearby that had a landing zone, likely a mining outpost or trade route pitstop. It was fairly common for Seekers to land pretty much anywhere they felt like it. Most populations paid them no mind, and what places were potentially hostile were few and far between. It was pirates and mercs that they had to watch out for, and most wouldn’t dare attack a Seeker ship on the ground. While in space they were certainly extremely dangerous, on the ground, a crew had many weapons and were often quite skilled in defending themselves thanks to the often-violent nature of accepting contract jobs.
Setting the autopilot to go to the landing zone and have the ship land itself, Bradley kicked his feet up on a space on the dashboard that had no buttons and leaned back in his chair. He crossed his arms over his chest, tilted his head back, and shut his eyes to rest. He hadn’t been sleeping well, not for quite some time. He felt tired all the time, all the uncertainty after Bergeron’s death building up in his chest, the nightmares of what he had to do haunting his sleep. Losing someone was never easy. Losing someone you loved so dearly, was even more difficult. He never imagined that it would happen, he thought they’d be together until they were old and gray. Now, not only was he alone, but he was tasked with leading a crew that sometimes seemed just as lost as he felt. Could they trust him as much as he trusted them? Could he be the leader they needed, could he really replace Bergeron at the helm and guide the Bruin to success? He often felt that he couldn’t.
“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”
A familiar voice came from behind Brad, and he jolted out of his chair, turning around. There stood Patrice, but he knew this was just a dream. He was so pristine, so perfect, his uniform freshly clean and hair slicked back neatly. Marchand had this dream many times before, when he dozed off in his chair.
“I can’t be you.” Brad looked at the eyes of the man he missed so much. “I was never as honorable or respectable. You gave so much of yourself and took so much of me with you when you died, Patrice… Now the crew may be in danger, and I don’t know how to plan for it. I don’t always know what to do like you did.” He stepped forward, only inches away from his departed lover. Sometimes these dreams felt so real, he would reach out to touch him, but his hands would fall right through. It was always nothing but a ghost.
“And you think I knew what I was doing? Chara only taught me so much. And I could only teach you so much. Part of being a Captain is knowing you’re only human. We are not perfect.” Patrice’s voice echoed, and a smile found its way onto that stubbled face.
“But you were. God, you were so perfect, Bergy. I miss you so much.” Marchand’s voice cracked and he frowned.
“I’m always here with you, Brad.”
“No, no you’re not. You don’t know how alone I feel now! Just let me out of this dream already!” Bradley waved his arm through the apparition in front of him, and he felt… contact?
“Ow! Damn it, Marchy, wake up!” A voice called out to him, a hand shaking his shoulder.
The Captain opened his eyes to see one of the crew members, Jake DeBrusk, beside him.
“... Sorry. Did I hit you?” Bradley sat up in his chair, looking out the windshield to realize they’d landed, before looking back to DeBrusk.
“Yeah, but it’s all good. Pasta sent me up here to let you know diagnostics on the gunnery systems are all clear.” The crewman stepped back, tucking his thumbs into his belt casually. “We just stopping here to rest while everyone runs diagnostics?”
The Captain nodded. “I’ve got some things to think through after what happened with the Leaf and the Canadien. We need to make sure we aren’t being tracked first though.” He reiterated, probably telling DeBrusk the same thing that Pastrnak had explained to him.
“Maybe you should go get some sleep in your quarters instead of snoozing in your chair, Cap. It’s probably gonna be a while. You know how long those shield diagnostics take.” Debrusk glanced at the screen on the left. “Yours are still running too but they’re almost done. Want me to keep an eye on them while you go to rest? I’ll let you know if anything’s up.”
Marchand sighed and stood up from his chair. “Sure, thanks. I don’t suspect anything will come up. If something does, tell McAvoy first before you come wake me. Sometimes the diagnostics run into errors because this ship is so much older than the software that runs it.” He instructed, heading to the exit of the cockpit. Jake took a seat in the Captain’s chair, swiveling it around in a circle, then planting his feet while he was facing in the direction of Marchand.
“Will do, Cap. And hey… you know you can talk to all of us, right? I heard what you said in your dream. That you feel alone. I know none of us are him and we can’t comfort you from what happened… But maybe you’d feel a little better if you talked about it.” The gunner was heartfelt, trying to connect with his Captain and empathize with him.
Bradley nodded his head a little, stopping to look back at Jake. “Thanks but… I’ll be alright.” He tried to give him a convincing smile, but it was half hearted. The Captain turned and resumed his way off of the bridge to the deck just below, where his quarters were. The empty bed was no more welcoming than his cockpit naps, but he shed his armor and jumpsuit and crawled into it, hugging a pillow to his chest. Around the pillow was a black shirt- one of Patrice’s. It still so faintly smelled of him, and in that familiar scent was so much pain. Bradley breathed in the memories nightly, and it was like filling his lungs with shards of glass.
But he just couldn’t let go. He couldn’t let go of Patrice Bergeron.