The airlock cycled, McGillicuddy stepped aside to let Michelle enter first. It was still technically her ship, her command, even if it wasn’t anything much more than a pile of scrap now.

Michelle Patterson looked around the wreckage of the Santa Maria’s bridge. It hurt too much. It brought back too many memories that had been filed away instead of addressed. First the accident – the damage – the blood – Shelley’s bloated hand floating away. Then the battle damage – more blood and not-at-all-quiet death, putrid air, anxiety, pain and the realization of both surviving and losing more.

Now, to make it worse, Jeff was on his way up. The last time he’d been on the ship, Michelle had had to hold him steady while Marc tried to keep his shattered skull from collapsing. Involuntarily, she looked at the flight deck hatch. It was sealed tightly, denying her a look at the remnants of her own workstation.

It had all gone wrong back then, over there. Now, with the ship in pieces again, it all pushed through to the surface.

Dammit, I’m above this, she thought as she walked down the stairs, careful of her footing around a section of flooring that had buckled in the blast. She forced herself to look around. The touch-sensitive surfaces had all shattered like so much ice. The catwalk, where it capped the communications pod, was warped beyond use. The communications pod itself, Bill’s old station, was a black mess of burnt consoles and hacked repairs. Three powerful explosions inside that confined space had done most of that. Attempts to rig an emergency transmitter had done the rest.

Michelle didn’t want to look too closely at the wreckage in case there were stains showing the remnants of a life ended violently.

A life she’d known.

Michelle felt a little wobbly. I can’t do this. Marc always said that I was the strongest one he knew but I can’t do this. Michelle could feel her eyes welling up.

Marc, where are you?

It had been a long time since she’d cried; she had a lot of catching up to do, although maybe not just yet.

Michelle walked aft along the engineering stations toward the auxiliary module and the entrance to the duty station kitchenette, her hand tracing the wall, feeling everything and nothing at all. She was faintly aware that she was alone now; McGillicuddy was giving her space. She didn’t bother looking for him. This wasn’t his place to be anyway. He hadn’t been here, hadn’t lived it.

Michelle saw Sumin, walking out from the medbay, followed by Jennifer and Greg. Sumin embraced her in a long hug, one that Michelle didn’t want to end. Our little miracle, Sumin. Somehow you came back to us.

Just below the surface, Michelle was aware of her topmost thought adding, why couldn’t Marc come back too?

Jennifer put her hand on Michelle’s shoulder. Michelle favoured her with a faint smile. Differences, whatever they had once counted for, were gone for good, subsumed by the bond of their shared ordeal.

We’re the survivors; Michelle took in Greg with her eyes too. The scars on his face were still more raw than healed. She knew that they’d offered to fix those but he wouldn’t allow it. The scar, the pain, it becomes a part of who you are… like this will eventually.

Michelle understood. She had scars too, badges of honour that were too personal, too hard earned to be anything less than a part of her soul. This scar too, her gaze took in the bridge, will be a part of my soul.

Michelle saw Sumin looking around the bridge also. She could feel the tears in Sumin’s eyes. Michelle wanted to say something, but what?

There were no words, not really. She may want to scream, to cry, to hold them all and weep uncontrollably for the lost ones, but none of those were words.

At times like this, words failed, at least for Michelle. She kept an arm around Sumin, giving and taking strength, aware that she was swaying slightly.

It was McGillicuddy, the outsider, who broke the silence, “Carter’s arrived.” He spoke gently, more humanely than Michelle had ever heard him speak, his military demeanour stripped from him for once. “Blaine’s with him.”

Michelle tried to nod that she had heard, but it came out as a faint shaking of her head in the negative. McGillicuddy nodded back in gentle sympathy, a reminder that he too had lost men.