Cascading Echoes

CHAPTER TWO

MICHAEL BURNHAM

The turbolift doors whispered shut, enveloping Commander Michael Burnham, Commander Ash Tyler, and Lieutenant Commander Airiam in a capsule of silence as they descended from the bridge. Burnham adjusted her uniform, the tension thick in the confined space.

"Was it really necessary to press him like that?" she asked, her eyes fixed on the doors, her voice betraying a hint of frustration.

"Why are you angry?" Tyler countered, his gaze unwavering. "My job is to safeguard Starfleet's interests, not to play nice."

"You mean to watch over Pike, for Section 31," Burnham shot back, glancing briefly at Tyler, taking in his neatly trimmed beard and raven-black hair.

"That, among other things. You barely know him. After what happened with Lorca, I'd think you'd be more cautious. Pike's history with your brother aside, he's just passing through."

"It's not about Pike; it's about trust," Burnham said, her tone firmer. "I trust this crew to protect Discovery and each other."

"We all followed Lorca blindly and look where that got us—a fractured Federation. Dubious alliances, questionable treaties."

"And you think being a Federation operative helps?" Burnham challenged, turning to face him fully.

"Section 31 sees this ship as the line between the Federation and oblivion. I agree. I won't see it destroyed or captured."

"I don't see that happening," Burnham said, the edge in her voice softening.

"I'll make sure it doesn't," Tyler replied, stepping off the lift as the doors opened onto deck three.

As the doors slid shut, Airiam's clinical tone pierced the silence. "I take it you two are no longer a couple."

"That would be correct, Lieutenant Commander," Burnham replied, matching Airiam's detached tone, though there was a sting in admitting it.

On the sixth deck, the two women exited the lift and made their way to the Mess Hall. The familiar clatter of utensils and hum of conversation filled the air. Crew members and civilians alike dined beneath the large observation windows, where the warp effects bent light into shifting patterns outside. Burnham paused for a moment, taking in the scene, letting the everyday normalcy of the mess hall momentarily calm her.

"Will you be joining us today, Commander?" Airiam asked, heading toward the Officer's Lounge.

"Not today. I need to review Starfleet reports on Romulan activity," Burnham said, holding up her data pad. "You and the others have a drink on me."

She took a seat at the bar and ordered a Xiosian tea. The bluish-yellow drink was an acquired taste, but its familiarity was comforting. As she sipped, Burnham typed her security code into the data pad, pulling up the mission overview for Galorndon Core. The Class-H2 planetoid was hazardous, its atmosphere prone to electromagnetic storms and lightning strikes that wreaked havoc on technology—and the human nervous system.

She zoomed in on the Beta Quadrant, focusing on the Neutral Zone. Galorndon Core appeared as a dull black orb, enveloped in swirling storm clouds. The UFP's warning banner scrolled across the hyperspace feed in multiple alliance languages. Swiping left, she reviewed diplomatic communiques on the Federation's treaties with the Romulan Empire. The sector, once contested by the Klingons, had been annexed by the Romulans, now embroiled in delicate negotiations.

This mission is as much about optics as it is experimentation, Burnham thought. We need to assert our presence, or risk looking weak.

"Commander, I was hoping to speak with you," Ensign Kuma Thompson said, standing behind her, his voice hesitant.