Captain announces to the stoical crew of young men and women standing idly, listening to the one person they revere: a father and protector. This man, simply and affectionately known as Captain, gazes at the floor with an unrecognizable pain that he is clearly trying to muffle by shuffling his feet, repositioning his hands from front to back, and taking noticeable deep breaths. “We are no longer heading for Cylon Station 112.”
Instead of murmurs of disappointment and frustration there is only silence: Their respect is testament to how damn dedicated this crew is to their Captain.
“Master Helmsman—”
“Yes Captain!”
“Reconfigure our course for the following coordinates.”
The Helmsman, a proud chested man, gives a sharp nod and methodically returns to his chair at the center portion of the ship's steering console. His virtual dashboard flashes upward in a brilliant beam of light and then spreads out in front of him: a series of orange grids and green numbers. “Orders Captain?!”
“Make course for 118.23, 25.7.”
No action occurs.
“Make course Master Helmsman.”
“Captain, sir, I was waiting for the z-position!”
Captain coolly nods his head, understanding the confusion. “There will be no z-position at the present.”
Somewhere deep in the universe there are gasps of surprise and wild whispers of baffling intrigue; none of which is occurring inside the Captain's vessel. The Helmsman nods his head stiffly and waves his fingers through the orange grid: swirling the green numbers around in a seemingly chaotic pattern that abruptly ends with a flick of his index finger. He then taps on a set of numbers that turn neon yellow and says: “118.23.” He taps another set of numbers and says: “25.7.” Using both hands, he pushes the whole virtual screen back and says: “Set.” All of the numbers return to their green state and a red line instantaneously forms between the gridlines. This red line runs completely off the virtual map and into oblivion.
Captain nods his head with approval and says: “We will get our third position as soon as Intelligence can provide it. As for now, all of you are to return to your normal duties and schedules. All R&R has been temporarily cancelled and will be re-instituted as soon as our new objective has been achieved. But given the seriousness of all Intelligence activities, I cannot disclose the purpose of our mission. As soon as I've been given clearance I will readdress and state our orders. As for the time being, and until the moment of my address, continue as normal.” There is something that suddenly appears in the Captain's voice, something small, painful, almost as if he is choking. “Thank you. Dismissed.”
That was three months ago. Now in his chambers, Captain sits on the small depressive cot in the wall, stroking the sharp morning stubble and thinking about that momentous order. No one complained, at least not within earshot, but he certainly knew what they were thinking—are thinking. Three months of travel, three months of uncertainty, and three months of blind trust, even after spending twelve continuous months away from home. And surely when they made their last fuel stop—a reprieve from the mundane that has become their existence—someone heard something, a rumor or a gossip, something to tip them off on exactly what they are doing, where they are going—rumors of course—even Captain doesn't know exactly where, only for what purpose, which is exactly why he is having a hard time getting off his cot this moment.
The images that haunt his dreams resurface each day: The images he saw the morning he gave the order. These images: a three-dimensional, real-time transmission, beamed from Intelligence to fill his securely locked cabin, inadvertently creating a disorienting transformation, were a nightmarish version of what he once knew, what used to be clean gray-blue walls now dark, discolored and decorated with unnatural masses contorted into a terrifyingly gruesome collection of dead bodies. Never in Captain’s forty-two years has he seen something so horrid. He estimates, long after watching the video several excruciatingly-careful times, is that there were roughly twenty bodies blown apart inside the largest research cruiser of the North American fleet, captained by his colleague and long-time friend: Gerald Losian.
The virtual footage moved through the mess hall and to the bridge where Captain saw a silhouette of a man seated at the steering console and working feverishly. The virtual feed maneuvered closer to the shadow until it was no longer a shadow but a figure. Captain gasped when he saw his friend Gerald Losian setting new coordinates on the virtual dashboard. “Gerald,” Captain said foolishly to the virtual recording, “what happened?”
The figure stopped suddenly and looked at Captain with wild, unrecognizable, eyes. Captain froze for a moment before reminding himself that Gerald wasn't actually looking at him.
The figure slowly reached up with his left hand and suspended it in space. Then, with a quick jerk, he grabbed the camera, which caused the feed to jump around in nauseating movements, and slammed it down onto the console, ending the transmission.
“Good God!” Captain called out.
The robotic voice of Intelligence said: “That was our feeling as well.”
“Gerald did that? He killed all of those people, his crew?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Captain Gerald Losian was informed of the murder of his wife and three children at their home on the continent. Captain Gerald Losian became unresponsive. We sent out a transport to The Explorer but Captain Gerald Losian wouldn't grant it permission to dock. He charted a course that led away from his directive. Recent data indicates that Captain Gerald Losian is attempting to intersect The Mirror.”
“He’s what?!”
“Your new orders are to intersect The Explorer before it reaches the mirror.”
Captain felt the weight of the universe fall onto his shoulders. It was lunacy. “Why would Gerald try to cross The Mirror?” He knew the answer.
“There is a high probability that a second Earth exists beyond The Mirror. This second Earth could contain identical copies of every living being and—”
“Gerald wants to go there and find his family,” Captain interrupted.
“Correct. The danger in doing so is calculated to be 100% cataclysmic for The Explorer. There is zero possibility of survival. Your new orders are to intersect The Explorer before it is annihilated.”
“What's The Mirror?” ship hand Kelly asks first marshall Johnny Revere.
“What, they didn't explain The Mirror to you green-feet at the Space Academy?”
“No, what is it? Gore says we're heading straight for it. He sounded scared, like going there is bad or something.”
The two crew members collect their trays at the mess line and walk away from the serpentine of hungry men and women. Revere says: “It's basically the end of the universe, or so I was told.”
Kelly gives her superior a sardonic glare and says: “Come off it. I'm not stupid. Everyone knows that the universe is infinite.”
“Not according to Space Intelligence.”
The two of them sit down at one of many long re-purposed wooden eating tables filling the mess hall. Kelly takes a sip from her recycled plastic cup of water and says: “Intelligence says The Mirror is the end of the Universe?”
“Supposedly.” Revere shovels a fork full of peas into his mouth. “Why in God's name we're heading there is beyond me.”
Another man named Harper, who is sitting further down at the table, slides over and says: “I hear we're out to stop a rogue ship from crashing into The Mirror.”
“Who did you hear that from?” Kelly asks suspiciously, knowing Harper to exaggerate the truth.
“I overheard the IO mention it. He seemed pretty concerned about it.”
Revere scoffs and says: “The IO seemed concerned? Now that seems like a load of bull. I've been aboard this vessel for two years and I've never once seen the IO act concerned.”
“If he's concerned,” Kelly says dismissively, “then shouldn't we all be concerned? I mean, if anyone would know if we we're heading into danger it would be him, wouldn't it?”
Harper says: “I heard that this rogue ship is actually The Explorer and that its Captain has lost his mind, or something, and that we're being sent to stop him.”
“Where did you hear that from?” Revere asks sharply.
“No one in particular, it was just a rumor going around, that's all. Everyone's scared.”
Kelly shakes her head in contention. “I heard The Explorer’s captain was murdered along with his family while on R&R.”
Revere shakes his head too and forks a sausage before saying in a low, almost inaudible, voice: “There's lots of rumors going around,” which is an undeniable truth. Fear has taken its grip on the crew.
Captain finishes dressing and is hailed from the door intercom. His Intelligence Officer, Roger Cross, is at the door. Captain hesitates slightly before pressing the Open button. “Good morning Roger, what can I do for you?”
“May I enter, Captain?”
“Certainly.” Captain steps aside and allows his slender built IO to stride inside. “What can I do for you at this early hour?”
“Captain, we'll be at the threshold of The Mirror quiet soon.”
“I'm aware of that.” Concern shows on the IO's face. “What's bothering you, old friend?”
Roger glances around the room and begins to stroll. “Nothing, Captain, it's just . . . I'm growing more and more concerned about our mission: particularly with our main objective. I'm worried we can't achieve it.”
“You're concerned about stopping The Explorer?” Captain says dumbfounded. “Roger, if there was anyone aboard this vessel, aside from myself, who should know its capabilities in regards to halting a research vessel like The Explorer, then it should be you. There's no doubt that we can halt its engines. The Explorer isn't armed and its hull is made of—”
“Yes Captain, I'm well aware of our abilities to immobilize The Explorer and I do agree that there shouldn't be any trouble in doing so.”
“Then what's the problem?”
“I'm not sure how to put this,” Roger says uneasily while shuffling his hands, “but I fear that our objective is a decoy for something larger. One that could put our vessel at risk, including our lives.”
“Roger, if you're afraid for your life, then you entered into the wrong line of business. Service in the space fleet is full of peril.”
“I know this, Captain, but I didn't sign up to be sacrificed for a science experiment.” He then heaves a heavy sigh. “I think they're sacrificing us.”
Captain gives no indication of his feelings; knowing that the slightest hint would be detected by his IO, who is an expert at observation. “And what has you drawing that conclusion?”
“Little things, Captain. The space fleet pays me to observe and collect intelligence, and I have, and this mission smells foul.”
“So what is this intelligence that you've collected?”
“It starts with The Mirror, Captain. There is so little known about it that Intelligence has yet to release its existence to the public. Every research satellite they've sent to collect data has not returned, which suggests that it can't be penetrated.”
“You aren't speaking about anything I don't already know, Roger.”
“Yes Captain, but the one thing Intelligence has yet to do, which is logically the next thing to do, is send a manned vessel to examine The Mirror and document its findings.”
“And you think The Explorer is that vessel?”
“No, I don't. The Explorer is too expensive to risk losing. The Explorer is not only the pride of the Science Division but also its most expensive asset. Think about it. They want to send something like The Explorer but can't risk its loss, so instead they're sending something that is far more expendable, say something like a cruiser that they have thousands of and can reproduce exponentially.”
Captain strokes his freshly shaved face and processes the IO’s concern. “You're suggesting that our mission to stop Captain Losian from destroying the The Explorer is really a mission to observe The Mirror?”
“I am.”
Captain considered this possibility weeks ago but excluded it; the impact of the virtual feed had convinced him. “Have you seen the virtual video feed, Roger? Maybe we should plot out time for you to observe—”
“I've seen the virtual feed: It's a fake.”
“Careful, old friend, that sounds treasonous. There are easier ways to get a manned vessel over to The Mirror that doesn't involve fake video feeds and lying about a ship's fate.”
“You're assuming that Intelligence believes we would have gone to The Mirror willingly—to a place that has been proven to be catastrophic.”
“Of course we would have,” Captain says confidently.
Roger looks distressed. “Captain, can I speak freely?”
“I thought you were.”
“I'm afraid you're too trusting of our silicon friends. They don't think like we do. They don't have feelings like we do. They lack empathy. What is it to Intelligence if we all die while observing The Mirror?”
Captain has little to argue with. “I've never known Intelligence to send manned vessels on suicide missions. I truly think you're letting your fear run the operation. You need to control this unruly train of thought and consider where we are and what we are truly trying to accomplish. The Explorer is on a collision course: plain and simple. We must act.”
“I don't think we will find The Explorer when we arrive.”
Captain considers this for a moment and says: “Then we'll know Intelligence's true intentions.”
“You act like it will be that simple. We don't know what exists at the edge of The Mirror. We may not be able to simply turn around.”
“This line of speculation is getting us nowhere. I've noted your objection to the mission and will weigh my decision once we've arrived.”
The IO is flustered now. “Captain, I don't think you're taking this serious enough.”
Captain, who had walked back to his dressing mirror, spins around in a fury and says: “Roger, do you know Gerald Losian? Have you ever met his family? I knew each of them like my own. I'm still grieving over the loss of my dear friends, which is nothing compared to the pain Gerald Losian must be facing. It may be difficult for someone like you, whose fear has developed a callus over his rationality, to understand that this is happening for real.”
The IO stands boldly and declares: “Gerald Losian isn't facing any pain because he is already dead, Captain.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
The IO holds quiet for a moment while choosing his next words. “There is word out there, from significant sources, that Captain Losian was on R&R when the murder occurred. It is highly suspected that Captain Losian was among the victims found at the house.”
There is a pause in the argument that can be interpreted as consideration or a flat out moment of audaciousness that needs to be filtered. Captain finally says: “You're excused from this conversation, IO. I will see you at exactly 0600 hours in order to discuss the next line in our operation.”
“Captain,” Roger says pleadingly, “you must consider this option. If Captain Losian is in fact dead, and the video false, then we are heading straight for our doom. They are using you, sir. They know the condition of your emotional state and they are using it against you. Intelligence knows that you will look beyond rationality, that you will think with your heart and not your brain. It isn't I whose feelings have been compromised, sir—it is you. We have a mission, but it isn't to stop The Explorer.”
Captain bores screaming red tension in his eyes. “You forget yourself, IO! Gerald Losian is a dear friend of mine and his family was like my own! Do you really think that if my friend had been murdered I wouldn't have heard of it?”
The IO straightens himself. “You underestimate me, Captain. I'm certain you've heard of Captain Losian's murder, and furthermore, I'm certain you are in denial of the truth. Everyone has heard the rumor by now. You are too emotionally compromised to see—”
“IN DENIAL?” Captain blasts out in a venomous tone. “You think I'm in denial?”
“Yes, Captain, which puts you in a mental state unfit to guide this vessel or this mission any further—”
“Have you lost your mind, Roger?!”
“—therefore I have no choice but to relieve you of your duty as Captain of this vessel on the grounds that you have been emotionally and mentally compromised.”
“HOW DARE YOU!” hisses Captain.
The IO takes a step away and reaches to a telecom at his waist and says: “Security, enter.”
In complete surreality, the doors to the cabin slip away and three armed security officers enter the room. Captain is astonished by this mutinous act and says: “Men: as your Captain, I order you to detain Intelligence Officer Cross. I'm charging him with plotting a mutiny.” The guards don't listen, instead choosing to follow the IO's orders. “This is preposterous!” Captain shouts and trains his eyes onto the IO. “You're scared Roger! You've observed the fears of the crew and allowed it to affect your decision! Damn you! You know we have orders to conduct! You know what we have to do! You're creating a mutiny because you're scared!”
The IO's eyes go to the ground. He says nothing in return. The guards forcefully escort their father—their Captain—from his cabin and into the hall. The IO quietly instructs the guards to take Captain into a detention cell, where he will wait until they dock at the nearest port and can figure out what the next course of action to be. Of course, nothing will be easy, considering that they are conducting a mutiny, a violation of Fleet Code: #00334 and are subjected to capitol punishment if proven guilty in a court-martial, which will surely happen if they fail to provide evidence that Intelligence falsified the video stream, intentionally gave false data, and recklessly placed the crew of The Huntsman in peril for an undisclosed purpose. It will not be easy to locate witnesses of Losian's murder nor will they have the time needed to conduct a proper investigation—and that is considering that the IO is right in his theory. Are my emotions not my own? Had the murmurs of the crew and their anxiety of the unknown compromise my judgement? Aside from Captain, the IO is the most steadfast member of The Huntsman and has unparalleled instincts: so he knows it to be illogical for him to take these waivers in faith seriously. I know the truth will come out. I must stay the course.
Over the announcement system comes a female voice. “Captain, we have reached The Mirror.”
It takes a second for the words to register. “This is Intelligence Officer Cross, I have relieved the Captain of his duties and will be acting as Captain until we can dock at the nearest station.”
There is a long pause before the female voice says: “IO, we have detected an unknown vessel, sir. Waiting for orders, sir.”
The IO's mind is blank. He can't believe what he just heard. “I'm coming to the bridge!”
The bridge is on high alert and its crew are working diligently at their stations: calling out orders and data. When the IO reaches the deck, the first person to spot him is Master Chief Arsler, who incidentally helped Roger form the mutiny. “IO on the bridge!”
The IO acknowledges his loyalty before addressing the large virtual screen displaying the foreign vessel heading directly toward their cruiser. “Status!”
“Sir, she's not answering our hails. The ship is coming up unknown in the computer.”
“Sir!” the Master Helmsman calls out. “We're at full throttle and the vessel directly in front of us is matching our speed. If we continue at this pace we will collide in less than two minutes.”
“Stop all engines!” The IO orders.
The Master Helmsman nods and quickly disengages the engines.
“They're matching our movements, sir. They've reduced their speed to zero.”
It is eternity that the two ships float motionlessly in front of each other, neither making a move, either out of fear of provoking the other or out of strategic planning. The IO can't discern which is the reason he hasn't given an order. He finally asks, to no one in particular, “Can it be The Explorer?”
The fear in the room prevents anyone from answering: fear that it IS The Explorer, fear that it isn't, and fear that anything else uttered will lead them down a path they won't recover. Meanwhile the ship, not unlike their own, remains menacing in the large visual display: waiting. The IO can silently hear the other Captain antagonizing him, strategizing on how to dismantle The Huntsman. He hears the inaudible whispers of his own crew—They are my own, right?—challenging his decision to detain Captain and take the reigns of his ship, formulating their own plans of mutiny, desiring to eject him into the vacuum where he would fall unconscious, his blood boil and freeze, his skin expand and balloon during a process that takes somewhere between thirty seconds to one minute, ultimately killing him, but not before experiencing the worst excruciating pain humanly possible. The IO knows he needs to act before either of these situations come to fruition, but he doesn't know what to do. This is Captain's area of expertise. How he wishes Captain was there right now: leading. The IO, however, is left to act on impulse, unintelligently: a demise solely created by his own fear that has somehow, unrecognizably, taken control of his mind and is making irrational decisions without regard to long-term consequences.
“Orders, sir!” someone shouts: anyone.
Without thinking further, “Charge the weapons.”
“Yes sir!” shouts the Master Gunner. “Weapons charged and—”
“Sir! I've detected our opposer is charging their weapons!” shouts Vierra.
The IO is weak with anxiety, reacting impulsively. “Lock on the vessel and fire!”
“Yes sir! Firing!”
There is a loud discharge of energy from underneath them. A laser beam strobes at the vessel across the way, which in return fires a beam at them, pierced their vessel's hull in a thunderous explosion that knocks everyone to the ground. The craft rotates uncontrollably to its side and all gravitational fields are cut to nothing, causing the crew to lose weight. The IO tries to grab the captain's chair but misses and floats to the ceiling. Countless alarms sound off at ear piercing noise levels. The IO watches with surprising calm at the dramatic display of the crew fumbling around in floating space, trying to gather control, to continue their duties intrepidly, despite the circumstance. Roger looks to the virtual display and sees that they are floating, near tip to tip, with the other vessel and understands with frighten clarity that there is no saving either ship in this death game of uncontrollable chicken. All he can do is watch while a fantastic collision resulting in a brilliant and unforgiving light explodes outward at a speed not previously recorded, engulfing everything, until it completes its undeniable horror as a smaller Big Bang by a single, most extravagant meeting of matter and anti-matter, in total annihilation.
Back on the Continent, Intelligence watches the updates feed in: data caught and sent across the universe. In a lag time of years, they witness everything transpire onboard The Huntsman. The end result is what they predicted even though it didn't happen they way they planned. The incident becomes another record: an adjustment in their logic stream that determines what they know, how they know it, and how they will use it; for humans are nothing but guinea pigs in the grand expedition that is the evolution of life.