It Always Watches: A Star Trek Discovery Horror Story

II: The Ghost Ship

"This isn't right," Stamets observed as the shuttle shook for the seventh or eighth time. Burnham touched the controls again, trying to keep the ship on stable and on course. Despite her best efforts though, the small shuttlecraft kept straying from the bright yellow line on her console that showed her trajectory to the Pretorious.

Burnham considered herself a keen observer or her own limitations—it was impossible to have an inflated opinion of yourself when living among Vulcans—and she knew that while she could pilot a shuttlecraft she was hardly a skilled pilot. She needed Keyla Detmer here, working wonders with the craft's pitch and yaw.

"I know," she answered. "Dark nebulas are just clouds of dust and particulate matter. There shouldn't be energy discharges here. None of these things make sense."

"Maybe that what Pretorious is studying," Stamets mused, then noticed the pilot's corpse again, and back away from the control console.

"Problems?" Colwyn asked tightly from behind them.

"This nebula doesn't make sense," Burnham explained. "Dark nebulas are dust and particulate matter, but this one.... There are energy discharges, and power readings from something in the center, but it's not a forming star. I don't know what it is."

"Who cares as long as we get away from that warship back there?" Lyssa said.

"She has a point, Burnham," Stamets said, some of the hysteria returning to his voice. "We should try and haul them."

"I don't know if that's a good idea. We don't know where that Klingon ship is, and if they receive our signal..."

"Burnham!" Stamets snapped. "We are stuck in this nebula with a damaged shuttle! I think we can take the risk."

"Commander, I—"

"Just do it!"

Burnham tamped down the frustration and fury she felt from the fresh bruise on her ego—neither logical nor useful at this moment--and opened the hailing frequencies.

"USS Pretorious this is shuttlecraft Tuan. We are transporting survivors of a Klingon attack. We are damaged an in need of repair. Do you copy, Pretorious? We are looking for safe haven. There is a Klingon attack ship en route to this location, and we cannot go to warp. Do you copy, Pretorious?"

The shuttle shook and bounced some more, then lurched to the side like an atmospheric craft in a wind sheer. Burnham hurriedly reset the course guidance programming, and the shuttlecraft stabilized briefly, but still had a slight wobble.

"Maybe they don't want to hear from us," Colwyn said caustically. "Can't say as I blame them."

Burnham and Stamets ignored him, simply squinted at the console. Finally, Stamets simply slapped the comms panel out of frustration. "Are you're sure it's there?" he asked petulantly. It set Burnham's teeth on edge not to be able to upbraid him, as was her duty as an XO aboard the Shenzhou. Control the problem before it affected the ship enough for the captain to notice. She shook away the temptation.

That ship was dead, and so was her captain. Burnham had killed them both. She'd forfeited the right to be irritated by a crewmember's behavior. She stuffed it into the great, yawning chasm in the center of her being and concentrated on the task at hand.

...as we'd expect from a Vulcan...

"It's there," she responded. "Look at that," and pointed to the results of her sensor scan.

Stamets visibly started at the readout. "That's...that's insane! Power readings like that indicate...massive amounts of energy output..."

"Fascinating," Colwyn griped. "How about we know on their door rather than dick around in here waiting for the Klingons to carve us all up?"

Burnham and Stamets continued to ignore him. "They're even obscuring any life form readings."

"Well, something's got to be alive on there to be pumping out that kind of energy..."

"But are they Starfleet?" Burnham asked. And for a moment Stamets was silent. Then the comms panel crackled.

"Shuttlecraft Tuan, this is Pretorious," said a woman's voice. "This is Captain Crampton. Stand by for landing in shuttlebay two. We'll guide you in."

"Thank Christ," Colwyn sighed.

"Will you stop?" Lyssa admonished him. He gave her a sour look.

"Pretorious, we're standing by," Burnham transmitted. A moment later the charcoal swirls and eddies outside the canopy viewport dissipated to reveal a boxy, modular starship in the distance, her brilliant running lights reflecting off the backdrop of particulate matter like a dirty movie screen. Burnham watched as a set of clamshell shuttlebay doors slowly slid open, revealing the yellow tongue of a landing strip.

"That would be the welcome mat, shuttlecraft. Feel free to come on inside," Captain Crampton said. "Do you require medical assistance, shuttlecraft?"

"Negative, Pretorious," Burnham answered. "Just some time to let our shuttle's systems reboot." She worked her tongue in her dry mouth, then added, "We have a body for internment."

"We can handle that, shuttlecraft. Take as much time as you need," Crampton said pleasantly. Burnham had to admit that after weeks of Captain Lorca's brittleness and sharp edges, Captain Crampton's almost stereotypically human bonhomie was slightly unnerving.

Nonetheless she synced with the Pretorious's guidance system and steered the shuttlcraft into the bay.

The door shut behind them.