The C.S.S. Reality hovered like a steel fist poised to strike in the endless expanse of space. It appeared motionless, a fortress of power against the backdrop of the void, its form hard to detect even by the most advanced sensors. The ship was made from a rare composite alloy, one whose molecular structure allowed for an extraordinary phenomenon: a self-repair mechanism that operated at the atomic level. This alloy could store and release vast amounts of energy by cycling between stable and unstable atomic configurations. When activated, the alloy produced a controlled radioactive isotope that decayed over time, emitting green light that rippled across the hull like pulsating waves of life and energy.

This alloy, long lost to history, was the backbone of the C.S.S. Reality’s power system. The self-repairing nature of the composite allowed it to endure extreme forces and damage while also functioning as the ship's primary energy source. When superheated, the alloy generated near-limitless energy, feeding directly into the ship's advanced systems—including the revolutionary black hole drive.

The C.S.S. Reality wasn’t just drifting through space. It was traveling at a steady 6.2 meters per second on the Phelter scale, a measurement devised centuries ago by Avon Phelter, who had sought a universal reference point for time, speed, and distance. By using fixed reference points such as pulsars and gravitational anomalies, Phelter's "Absolute Time Originator Machine" (ATOM) was able to calculate relative motion in the universe. Though flawed and not universally adopted, the Phelter system persisted in certain sectors, particularly for military vessels like the C.S.S. Reality.

But more than just its speed or appearance, what made the C.S.S. Reality unique was its ability to manipulate spacetime itself. Nearly two-thirds of the ship's interior was devoted to the black hole creation drive, an engine unlike any other. At its core, the drive used Brillion atoms—a dense, highly reactive element mined from the hearts of neutron stars. These atoms were bombarded with energy from the ship’s composite alloy, their mass rapidly increasing until they reached critical instability. Just before the Brillion atoms could collapse into full black holes, they were split at the quantum level, creating micro-tears in the surrounding spacetime.

These micro-tears acted as conduits, allowing the C.S.S. Reality to fold space around itself and travel vast distances instantaneously. The process required vast amounts of energy, energy which the alloy could provide—but only after a lengthy recharge period as the material cycled back to its stable form. This limitation meant the C.S.S. Reality had to carefully plan its jumps, with several days often required between each leap through folded space.

The C.S.S. Reality itself was designed for one purpose: military domination. Its very structure was a weapon, a ship that resembled a severed fist, each part engineered for war. The 'thumb' of the ship housed a bay for 150 combat-ready drones and 72 manned darts, agile fighters that could swarm an enemy in seconds. The ‘fingers’ contained massive power reservoirs that fed into four ion cannons, each mounted on one of the ship’s knuckles. These cannons were capable of delivering devastating blows, vaporizing enemy vessels with a single concentrated burst.

Over the centuries since the ship had been seized from the Confederation, it had become the subject of countless reports, sightings, and myths. Few had faced the C.S.S. Reality and survived. One exception was the Elisson, a planet-sized vessel that had withstood the Reality’s might for nearly an hour in the Phelter year 6047. The Elisson had harnessed the energy of an exploding supernova, hoping to outlast the Reality by drawing it into a red-shifted time zone, where its black hole drive would take longer to recharge. Captain Harrington, in a brilliant tactical maneuver, had turned the Elisson’s trap against it. By using the supernova’s energy to fuel the Reality’s jump drive, she had leaped into the heart of the planet-ship, where the ion cannons quickly ripped it apart from within. Within an hour, the Elisson had been reduced to nothing but space debris.

The stories of such victories only added to the aura of invincibility surrounding Captain Harrington and her crew. But the bridge was not always as disciplined as the legends suggested.

“Where is the captain, anyway?” Sprag bellowed, his voice echoing across the bridge. "Three weeks in this fucking void and she hasn’t been on the bridge once. What the hell are we even doing here, Bill?”

Bill, a short, round man whose body seemed to bulge in all directions as though he were about to burst, tried to remain calm. His rounded glasses perched precariously on his nose, and his soft features only added to the impression that he was more balloon than man. “Let it be, Sprag,” Bill muttered, clearly uncomfortable. “You know the captain’s orders. We obey. Now get back to work.”

Sprag wasn’t having it. “Oh, that’s right. Bill, the loyal little lapdog,” he sneered. “Cap E-Tan this, Cap E-Tan that. Face it, Bill, you’re just hoping one day she’ll let you into her knickers. But it’s never gonna happen, mate. She’s got you wrapped around her finger, and for what? What has she done for any of us?”

Bill stiffened, trying to muster some authority in his voice. “We all had a choice, Sprag. We serve or—”

“Serve?!” Sprag exploded, jumping up from his console. His arms flailed dramatically as he tried to pull the other crew members into his tirade. “None of us had a fucking choice! Death or join her precious ship. How’s that a choice? And for what? To pander to her whims? I’m sick of this crap. She’s not special. She’s just got a ship and some fucking ego. Well, no more!”

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Bill stood, his eyes darting nervously around the bridge. “Sprag, you don’t want to do this,” he said in a hushed tone. “The captain isn’t someone you want to cross. Just calm down. Let’s talk.”

Sprag cackled, waving his arms in exaggerated gestures. “Cross her? Maybe what she needs is someone to finally give her what she’s been missing. A good fucking. You know what, Bill? You might’ve just solved it. That’ll calm her down. Maybe calm me down too.”

The bridge doors slid open, and every crew member but Sprag returned immediately to their duties. Sprag, however, didn’t flinch. “And here she is, our esteemed Cap E Tan,” he sneered, still pacing across the bridge. “I was just telling the crew what I think you need, Captain. Maybe you and I should find some quiet corner of this ship, get to know each other a little better. I reckon you’re tonight’s entertainment.” His words oozed disrespect as he closed the distance toward Captain Harrington, who stood in the doorway.

Captain Sandra Harrington—a striking figure at six foot two—stood in the doorway, her expression as cold and detached as the space outside. Her pale complexion was complemented by the stark black of her full-length leather jacket, boots, and trousers. The only sign of armament was the Shalken steel blade sheathed at her side, its worn leather handle betraying its use. There was also the smaller dagger tucked neatly into her boot, but her true weapons were her unshakable precision and unyielding command.

“Mr. Sprag,” Harrington said in her typically emotionless voice. “I’m giving you the same option I gave you on Telnarius: return to your post, remain part of this crew, or face the inevitable.”

Sprag laughed, loud and guttural. He wasn’t stranded on the icy wastelands of Telnarius now, wasn’t one breath away from death. No, here he was on a ship where he felt untouchable—larger than life, larger than his captain. The notion of facing "the inevitable" felt laughable. His swagger increased as he moved toward Harrington.

“Sorry, Captain. Things have changed.” Sprag spread his arms wide, reveling in his insubordination. “Option three’s looking better this time. I’m thinking the Reality needs new blood at its helm. But before that…” he leered, “maybe we can enjoy ourselves a bit first.”

Without a flicker of emotion, Harrington replied, “What a shame, Mr. Sprag. You had a unique skill set. But there’s no option three.” Her voice was calm, steady. “I’ll be having words with Mattwo. I don’t have time for outbursts like this. You should’ve been rejected from this crew on sight.”

Before Sprag could formulate a response, Harrington was already moving. With two swift strides, she cleared the distance to the balcony railing, vaulted over it effortlessly, and dropped the twenty feet to the lower deck. Sprag barely had time to blink, his arrogance momentarily stunted as his mind tried to catch up with what was happening.

By the time he realized she was airborne, it was too late. Harrington had drawn the small blade from her boot mid-leap, locked her eyes on his, and with a flick of her wrist, sent the blade soaring toward Sprag’s head. The knife struck true, slicing cleanly through his skull and embedding itself into a support beam behind him. Sprag's body wavered for a second, then collapsed lifelessly to the floor.

The rest of the crew remained focused on their tasks, not one turning to acknowledge the events that had unfolded. This wasn’t the first time the captain had dealt with a problem swiftly, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Harrington walked past Sprag’s corpse, pulling the blade from the support beam with ease. “Bill, clean this up,” she said, wiping the blood from the knife on her jacket.

The bridge doors slid open again, and Mattwo stumbled in, holding a tablet above his head, excitement quickly dimming as he noticed Bill struggling to haul Sprag’s body away.

“Damn it... Fleck, give him a hand,” Mattwo muttered before turning to the captain. “Captain, we’ve got a hit. Looks like—” He paused, his enthusiasm replaced by caution. “Captain, can I speak with you in the briefing room? It’s important.”

Harrington didn’t blink. She walked around the mess, sidestepping the two crew members now dragging Sprag’s body across the floor. Mattwo followed her into the briefing room, waiting for the doors to close before speaking again.

“Look, Sandra,” Mattwo said, dropping the formal tone. “This is the second man you’ve killed in two months. And it’s not just the bodies—it’s the time. It takes me weeks to find suitable replacements, and in Sprag’s case, five! You can’t just keep—”

Harrington cut him off, her voice ice-cold. “He was no good, Mattwo. Wasting five weeks on him was your mistake, not mine. He was dead long before he joined this crew. You know how important this mission is—what we’re dealing with. We can’t afford to carry anyone who isn’t fit for this ship.”

Mattwo, frustrated but not reckless, let out an exasperated sigh. “This isn’t what I signed up for. We saved that man, and you—”

“I saved you, Mattwo,” she snapped, cutting him off. “Fourteen years we’ve been running this operation. Fourteen years pulling people from timelines to keep this ship running. And in all that time, I’ve sacrificed more than you can imagine. You think the fate of a dead man like Sprag matters compared to this?” She gestured toward the simulation table.

The black glass rippled as a star chart hologram sprang to life above the table, showing the vastness of the galaxy. Mattwo waved his hand, rotating the chart until a red haze appeared in the middle, obscuring a circular section about 25 light-years across.

“Your fabled Earth,” Mattwo said with thinly veiled sarcasm, pointing to the red zone.

“We both know what’s at stake,” Harrington said, her voice dangerous. “Captain Bainbridge couldn’t have known about our mission unless there was a traitor among us. And since you’re still breathing, I’m assuming it wasn’t you. So don’t question me again. That”—she pointed to the red haze—"is what matters.”

Mattwo shrank into his seat as Harrington loomed over him. “If you’ve lost your nerve, say the word, and I’ll drop you on the nearest habitable planet. Telnarius should be pleasant this time of year, don’t you think?”

Mattwo gulped, his face pale as the threat registered. “No, no, I’m with you, Captain. I was just... speaking my mind. That’s all.”

Harrington’s piercing gaze lingered on him before she glanced at the tablet he was holding. “What do you have?” she asked, snatching it from his hands.

“There’s a red-shifted time zone three years off your target,” Mattwo explained nervously. “It’s risky. We’ll be vulnerable for several days, but there’s a gap in the distortion. It’s the best chance we’ve had.”

Harrington scanned the data, her demeanor shifting to one of focused intensity. “This is it,” she said, her voice colder than ever. “Prepare the ship. We’ll jump just outside the distortion and recharge our reserves. I want a full analysis on this timeline. Get an extraction team ready—I’ll lead the mission myself. We can’t afford any mistakes this time.”

She handed the tablet back to Mattwo, her gaze unwavering. “Inform the crew, Mattwo. Our next destination... is Earth.”