The Lost Soldier - Dinner and Memories

 A Scarred Memory

The simple act of changing clothes felt alien to Jane. The silver medical tunic was off. The small, familiar comforts—the cleaned and pressed small clothes Uhura had provided—went on first. They were a small, tangible anchor in this incomprehensible reality. She pulled on the soft, grey Starfleet trousers and secured the clasp, then slid her feet into the provided shoes.

She reached for the top of the uniform, but as her hands hovered over the fabric, the electric buzz that had been a dull throb since she woke suddenly flared into a blinding, agonizing spike. A roar filled her head, drowning out the gentle hum of the Enterprise's life support. Jane dropped the tunic. She grabbed her head with both hands, stumbling, and collapsed to sit heavily on the edge of the bed.

The Vision

Her sight tunneled. The walls of Pike’s bedroom dissolved, replaced by a hellish, orange-lit landscape. The sound and image of battle assaulted her: the ceaseless, bass thunder of artillery; the high-pitched shriek of gunfire; the earth-shaking thump-thump-thump of massive, kinetic rounds impacting armoured vehicles. She smelled smoke and burnt metal and ozone.

She was standing in the trench lines of a devastated city. Soldiers—human, turian, asari—were falling, their cries swallowed by the noise. Explosions tore apart skyscrapers, showering them in burning debris. And in the background, a sound that cracked the very sky, an immense, echoing, screaming sound: the Reaper horn. It was a sound of absolute cosmic terror, the battle song of extinction.

She felt the weight of her armour the desperate, frantic search for a target, the biotic energy flaring from her hand—blue light illuminating the horror of the faces around her. She was yelling orders, her own voice hoarse, unrecognizable. The pain in her head intensified until the light and noise became unbearable, a singular, white-hot shriek of agony.

The Aftermath

The shrieking stopped.

Jane blinked, the bedroom snapping back into focus. The silence was deafening, save for the sudden, alarming fact that she was sobbing, gasping for breath, and realizing she had been screaming out loud.

She looked up, startled, and saw the door to the bedroom had been thrown open. Nurse Chapel and Dr. M’Benga were kneeling next to her, their faces etched with immediate medical concern. Captain Pike stood in the doorway, his face pale and concerned, watching the doctor intently.

M’Benga placed a gentle, grounding hand on her shoulder. "Jane. Jane, look at me. It’s alright. You’re safe. What happened?"

Shepard pushed herself upright, leaning back against the cool headboard of the bed, dragging air back into her lungs. The grey trousers were crumpled, and her hands were trembling.

"I... I don't know," she whispered, her voice rough. "It wasn't a memory, not exactly. It was too fast. Too much. A vision? A flash of combat. Intense. Long combat, Doctor. For days."

She looked away, swallowing hard. "The bodies... there were soldiers on both sides dying by the hundreds. It was..." She shuddered. "I was in the middle of it. Fighting. Issuing orders..."

She stopped, the horrific imagery still flashing behind her eyelids. She slowly raised her eyes, meeting Pike's concerned gaze in the doorway. He stepped closer, kneeling across from her, his attention focused entirely on her face.

He saw the raw horror, the sadness, and the sudden, overwhelming rush of tears in her green eyes.

Her voice, when she spoke again, was broken.

"I watched my husband die," she choked out. The words felt like they were tearing her throat. "I... I... I couldn't save him."

The dam broke. The grief of a life she didn't remember, a sacrifice she had been powerless to prevent, crushed her. She curled up instantly, pulling her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth on the edge of the bed.

Tears streamed down her face as she buried her head against her knees, repeating the name like a litany of guilt.

"I'm sorry, Kaiden, so sorry," she wept, the words muffled. "So sorry."

M'Benga looked at Chapel, his medical curiosity instantly replaced by profound human sympathy. Chapel put a reassuring hand on Jane’s back, rubbing gently. Pike simply watched the stranger in their midst, the highly trained soldier reduced to a heartbroken widow, knowing that whatever war she had come from had taken a piece of her soul.

"Kaiden," Pike whispered, a profound sadness settling over him. "A husband."

The Architect of Extinction

Dr. M’Benga carefully monitored Jane’s vitals after administering the mild sedative. The frantic, erratic spikes in her heart rate and the raw distress on her face were slowly receding.

"She’s stabilizing, Captain," M’Benga reported quietly to Pike. "The surge of biotic energy she experienced was massive. It appears to be tied to extreme emotional trauma. The sedative should allow her to rest deeply for several hours."

Pike knelt by the bed and gently pulled the blanket over Jane, who had finally fallen into a deep, heavy sleep, her face still streaked with tears.

"Thank you, Doctor," Pike murmured. He activated a control panel on the wall. A subtle, humming green light appeared around the bedroom doorframe. "Sound dampening is up. Let's let her rest. The dinner plans still stand, but we'll keep the guest list short."

Pike, M'Benga, Una, and Spock retreated to the sitting area. The smell of the cooling carbonara sauce provided a strange, comforting counterpoint to the gravity of their impending discussion.

The Quiet Dinner and the Terrifying Data

Pike dished up four plates of the carbonara, the pasta rich with cream, egg, and pepper. The small dining table was intimate, but the atmosphere was anything but relaxed.

"Alright," Pike said, setting the final plate down. "Una, M'Benga, eat. You need the fuel. Spock, hit us with it. Tell us what's on that woman’s digital calendar."

Spock, already eating with Vulcan efficiency, set his fork down and activated a small, transparent holographic projector.

"I have managed to decrypt significant portions of the data stored within Commander Shepard's 'omni-tool,' primarily focusing on geographic and political data," Spock began. "First, the Systems Alliance. According to the codex data, it is the governmental body representing humanity and it's colonies centred on Arcturus Station spread across approximately Forty thousand light years"

"Forty thousand light years," Una repeated, frowning. "How did she get here?"

"That, Commander, remains the most illogical aspect of the event," Spock admitted. "The final, coherent data log is what is most concerning. It is a tactical overview file detailing a conflict roughly equivalent to a Class 9 catastrophe."

The hologram shifted, showing a grainy, chaotic planetary defence grid map.

"This is the planet Shanxi," Spock explained. "The log is dated approximately 30 Federation years into the future. It depicts a massive, sustained ground and orbital engagement. According to the internal timestamps, the battle lasted days, resulting in an estimated one million casualties—military and civilian."

Dr. M'Benga swallowed hard, his appetite suddenly gone. "Casualties of war are one thing, Spock, but who were they fighting?"

Spock pointed to an impossible signature on the orbital map—a massive, crescent-shaped object identified only by the codex term: Reaper Sovereign.

"The data describes the entity attacking Shanxi as a 'Sovereign-Class Reaper,'" Spock continued, his voice devoid of emotion, making the information even more chilling. "The log identifies it as an autonomous, sapient machine—an 'architect of extinction' leading an army of bio-mechanical forces referred to as 'The Collectors.'"

Una stared at the holographic image. "An autonomous machine... leading an invasion?"

"The data gets worse," Spock stated, focusing on the final, crucial log entries. "Commander Shepard's personal data file ceases abruptly after a single entry: The Reaper Sovereign attacking a planet on the edge of the Systems Alliance territory. Her final location was a tactical command post."

Spock zoomed in on the holographic image, showing Jane’s last recorded position.

"Her position was targeted by a high intensity air strike, indicated by energy signatures that far exceed any standard naval ordnance," Spock explained. "The last unscrambled data point I could extract was a recording of Shepard attempting to hold a biotic barrier in place to protect herself and her troops."

He played a brief, static-laced audio clip. They heard a woman’s strained, grunting voice—Jane's—then a roaring sound, and the sharp crackle of failing energy, before the data was corrupted.

"The biotic field appears to have collapsed under the assault," Spock concluded. "Given the energy output, the only logical conclusion is that Commander Shepard was killed at this point."

A heavy silence fell over the table. The aroma of garlic and basil felt sickeningly irrelevant.

Una looked at the closed bedroom door, her usual composure fractured. "But... but if she was killed... how is she here?"

Pike rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Let's assume a temporal or dimensional anomaly tied to the energy of that collapse. Let's focus on the enemy. Spock, Una asked a crucial question: What are these 'Reapers'? Why are they destroying things?"

Spock pushed his plate away, clearly acknowledging the necessity of the question.

"The omni-tool codex provides a chilling philosophical context," Spock explained, his eyes fixed on the door. "The Reapers are not merely invaders. They are a synthetic species of starship-sized consciousnesses that reside in the void between galaxies. They return to the Milky Way every fifty thousand years to harvest all advanced organic life. They are, essentially, a cyclical, inevitable galactic extermination event."

M'Benga let out a slow breath. "Harvest? You mean... wipe them out?"

"Precisely, Doctor," Spock affirmed. "They destroy advanced civilizations to prevent them from creating the synthetic life that would eventually destroy all organic life. The Reapers are a catastrophic 'solution' to a crisis that has not yet occurred. It is a conflict of manufactured destiny."

Pike leaned back, crossing his arms, his expression grim. "So, this woman we have sleeping in the next room is not just a soldier. She’s one of the last survivors of a galactic nightmare."

Una turned and gave a nervous, sympathetic glance toward the bedroom door. M’Benga did the same. The thought of the raw grief they had just witnessed, now understood in the context of galactic genocide, made the room feel cold.

"It seems, Captain," Una murmured, "that the battle she lost wasn't just for a planet. It was for her entire civilization."

Pike nodded, his gaze softening as he looked toward the closed door. "Then we make damn sure she finds some peace here. No more hard questions tonight."

He pushed himself up and started clearing the table.

"Spock, clear the hologram. M'Benga, check on Jane one more time before you go. Una, finish that pasta. Tomorrow, we focus on getting her home. But tonight, she sleeps."