The Eclipse Nebula was a wispy mirage of clashing dull purple and magenta hues extending in every direction from the ship. Not one thing about it had made concrete sense during their expedition. It was bright, glowing with unprecedented intensity, yet it was stagnant. The crew of the LCS Harmony had anticipated substantial change as they approached the nebula, let alone any, but it was seemingly inert. 

From the far-off observatories in Sol, astronomers had noticed the peculiar formation of the body over the course of a few weeks, watching events tens of thousands of years in the past in real time. It was the strange emissions from the body, abnormal gravitational phenomena only previously detected in man-made translight engines, that caught their attention. The prospect of life of non-terrestrial origin, let alone that which possesses such great technology and has for millenia before humanity was too great a danger and an opportunity to disregard.

Thus, the Astran dispatched a flotilla of top-of-the-line ships, complete with some of the most qualified crew the confederation could recruit. From linguists to technicians and diplomats to experienced military commanders, all were prepared for any possibility, but even they could not predict what they might find within the cloud.

“...and you said that this was just the visible spectrum?” Commander Miller floated beside the monitor, frowning. There was a look of utter bewilderment as he stared at the swirls and streaks of tie-dyed madness that occupied the region lightyears in every direction.
“Aye, sir. The cloud is astonishingly luminous, but we’ve yet to uncover a plausible source for the majority of the light.” The woman who answered, the head of the accompanying Astronomy and Astrobiology Corps, Dr. Eliana Stasi, had an excitement about her that he’d not seen for the duration of the voyage.

“You seem rather ebullient today, doctor?”

“Well of course, sir, most everything up until this point has been rather dull.”

“How do you mean?” He inquired, wondering what could be dull about heading a mission with the promise to discover extraterrestrial life.

“Well, if I am to be honest, I was rather skeptical that we’d find anything of note when we came out here.” She said, somewhat sheepishly, with a bit of a shrug.

“You didn’t think the gravitational signatures that were detected were anything of note?” He asked, curious. “It’s not quite my field, but in the way many of the top cosmologists were talking, it sounded rather astounding what they’d found.”

“Well sir, it’d sounded more to me like a classic case of a somewhat notable finding, which it was, being overly sensationalized. If you read up on the exact findings, they are certainly significant, but not in any way that couldn’t be explained by well understood phenomena, and the readings were taken from such a distance with such great interference that to make any kind of concrete claims was ludicrous.” She took a breath, almost blue from her rant.

“So you didn’t quite agree with sending the expedition then?” He asked, looking down at his wristwatch, simultaneously repositioning further from the monitor.

“I thought it was a waste of resources and time, more so a way for the institutes to secure more funds.” She glanced back at the monitor, pausing for a moment, “But I have to admit, I was wrong this time around.” For a moment, she too began to get lost in the spectacular show of colors decorated by glittering points of light across the view. It appeared almost photoshopped. “Whatever is causing… that,” she paused, looking for the best words, “well it certainly isn’t anything we understand to be natural.”

“Well,” the commander said, staring down at his hand, pondering for a moment. Looking up he began to move toward the hatch, “this is certainly interesting information that you’ve brought to my attention, Dr. Stasi, please have you and your top advisors join us in the officer’s mess at 0300 so we may discuss these findings.” He glided to the small hatch just behind them 

“Yes, sir,” she said, turning to return to her work. She wrote a brief message out to her staff regarding the meeting later that day, and returned to sleuthing through the unprocessed sensor data in hopes of finding some sort of pattern. “Now that's interesting…” she muttered, opening several files from one region, making comparisons, “...very much so.”

The spineway was crowded with crewman mid rotation, hurtling through the corridors and decks. As Miller drifted gently toward the ladder up to the next deck, he listened to the murmurs of the men and women around him, many excited, many anxious. Whether optimistic or pessimistic, the suspense was apparent through every face. The ship held its breath with the anticipation of something sudden that was only just beginning, something that would likely be a long, drawn out process. The thought gave Miller a headache. He found it hard to feel that childlike excitement he’d once had and that seemed to find the others so easily. All he saw among the new discoveries was just more paperwork for him to file, the logistics of running the operation had already been a nightmare to plan on such short notice, it was a miracle he’d been able to pull it off. She was probably right to think this was just a fool's errand. He thought. He admired the doctor’s newfound optimism, but did not share the same feeling. Until he saw direct evidence of unexplained warp signatures, or some ancient structures in space, he didn’t care how abnormal this dim gas cloud seemed to some stargazers back on Terra firma.

He climbed the slightly wider hatch into the command center, which he found was surprisingly less chaotic than the hallways below. It was 0000 hours and only the earliest risers had yet gotten to their posts, the bridge was primarily populated by the few early risers, and the night staff working key posts that could not be left unmanned for any period of time.

“Commander on deck,” he heard the voice of the command duty officer echo from all directions as his voice came over the loudspeaker. Miller received a few brief acknowledging glances from tired eyes across the bridge before they resumed their work. Reaching out, Miller grabbed hold of the guides along the "ceiling" of the chamber and gently brought himself across to the command pit.

The command duty officer, Lieutenant Commander William Becker turned to face him, his demeanor stiffening slightly as he came to attention, bringing up one palm in salute. “Good morning, Commander, I have no significant updates to bestow. We are currently positioned approximately one light-year within the Eclipse Nebula with all systems nominal. The flotilla is stationed within a twenty kilometer radius of our vessel and all ships are holding steady with minimal relative velocity. Several ships including our own are underway in passive sensor sweeps of the surrounding area and thus unshielded radio-emissions are being minimized.”

“Thank you Becker, you’re relieved,” he said, patting the man across the shoulder. “You really ought to get some shut eye, that was a mighty long shift you just pulled.” Just as the Lieutenant Commander opened his mouth to acknowledge, Miller added, “Oh- and, I apologize for the short notice but we have a mandatory officer’s meeting at 0300, so get the rest you can.”

“Acknowledged sir, no inconvenience to me sir.” He said the words, and Miller knew the man had a great dedication to duty, but he could also see the heavy bags under his eyelids and how bloodshot his pupils were. A dedicated man I can rely on; a great first officer, he thought. 

With that, he slid into his seat in the command pit, a small dip in the floor at the fore end of the command center with two seats, the command chair to the left and the helm on the right, harkoning back to the very first shuttles crafted by the early space age societies on Earth. The pit was complete with flight equipment and a myriad of monitors adorning the entire field of view. In the dead center of his vision sat a screen displaying a general readout of the ship’s condition, position, and general surroundings. He made note of the dozen or so ships dotting the map in each direction around the center, each with a tagged name and transponder code. The ships sat all but completely still, with the display scarcely able to detect their movement.

Miller, despite being the commanding officer, often found himself with little to do while on command. When in general operations, the subordinate officers could typically oversee most matters themselves. Additionally, the limited cabin space in warp-capable vehicles, and most craft for that matter, meant that the commander had no private office workspace for himself aside from the command center. Therefore, the commander would typically perform his administrative and office duties from his post on the command deck, letting the hum of computers and murmurs of officers drown out the distractions.

As he changed his monitor settings to display everything from messages to logs to mission briefings, he also changed the main monitor from the radar display to the raw unfiltered visual of the outside. Once again, he couldn’t help but lose himself in the hypnotically luminescent spirals and swirls beyond. As he sat there, entranced, he was suddenly thrust back into reality. For the moment, the surprise of the alarm sent a piece of him into an old sense of panic. A deeply buried sense of drowning as they were once again tested against a looming threat. 

He thought back to his early career, a fire control officer on a frigate in the midst of the Jovian conflicts, never knowing which figures were harmless balls of ice and dust, or enemy vessels, bristling with missile pods and cannons. Every day brought silent contemplation of whether that would be the day a stray shot would turn all you loved to dust. He blinked, rubbing the last ounces of sleep from his eyes. “Old wounds,” he thought.

“Alert,” he heard double as the loudspeaker echoed the voice of the helm to his right, “all personnel please locate the nearest crew restraint apparatus and secure your person and loose items. The vessel will be performing a minor adjustment burn in T minus five minutes.” Miller glanced to his right at the helm who he’d hardly noticed to that point. He was an ensign, Felix Boule, looked to be in his early twenties, fresh out of officer school, with a stern look beyond his years. He was hyperfocused on the matter at hand, and looked impatient at the delay in his work. He noticed some of the other officers shared a similar sentiment.

Once more the young officer pressed a button and over the onboard intercom his voice echoed, “all onboard parties prepare for minor heading adjustment.” Miller didn’t even bother to strap down his restraints, nor did it seem any of the others on the bridge did, besides the helm himself.

“Commencing burn,” he spoke, assertively.

At once, a gentle hissing and crackling propagated throughout that cabin, and he felt a slight jerk as the room began to spin in one direction, then the other. Glancing at the monitor, he watched as the view gently creeped across the expanse, through into a brighter, visually warped, center. 

“Burn complete, all parties may return to prior postings and activities,” the helmsman went silent for the last time, stretching out into a reclined position.

“What is that?” Miller couldn’t help himself from saying the words, turning to the rest of the crew on deck. “Lieutenant Gates, what is that bright center to the nebula that just came into view off of the forward camera feed?”

“We are not certain, sir,” he answered firmly, “the Astro-Astrobiology Corps is currently analyzing incoming sensor data now available from the adjustment and is, in fact, currently requesting permission to utilize active probing and scanning.”

Miller paused, not wanting to broadcast their position to any potentially unwanted guests, but also seeing no firm evidence to their presence. Besides, he reasoned, if there were truly advanced species here dangerous enough to pose a grave danger to the flotilla, their initial entry to the nebula would have been detected; even human systems are capable of detecting warp signatures. “Very well, Lieutenant, give them the go-ahead.” The sooner we confirm or deny what we came here to do, the sooner we can get back to business back home, he thought.

“Sir, if I may, it is also my duty to remind you that you are needed in the officer’s mess in ten minutes for your staff meeting,” the lieutenant announced.

Miller looked down at his terminal, spying the time: 0247 hours. “Ah, yes, thank you Lieutenant, please take command over the deck in my absence.”

“Aye, sir, assuming command of the deck.” The lieutenant saluted Miller, to which he returned, before gliding out of the hatch and into the belly of the ship.

The officer's mess was a small gray room with foam padding and grips lining every face. Along a few of the walls lined monitors that could be set to display a wide array of programs from television to external views. Aside from the closed hatch leading into the shared ship galley, the only distinguishing feature of the room was the central platform and pivotable restraint-included seating surrounding it in a small ring. 

Within the small room crowded the dozen or so officers and advisors, quickly filling the seats and spaces around them. Miller elected to float near to the hall entrance hatch beside one of the display screens. Across from him to the right of the screen hung Dr. Stasi, crowded by her numerous advising scientists and researchers, all eagerly discussing something together. The time struck 0300 and Miller began to speak.

“May I have everyone’s notice, please?” He paused as the others present shushed and slowly quieted to silence. “I’d like to thank you all and apologize for the hour. I'm aware that this conflicts with many of your schedules but it is critical that we act on new findings in a timely manner, and current scanning efforts have majorly disrupted radio communications.” The group did seem on edge, pressed, and many exhausted, but none seemed to harbor any enmity towards him.

“For those of you who have not yet had the opportunity to meet me, I am operation Commander James Miller, and we need to discuss possibilities, findings, and form courses of action regarding the past several days’ scanning and analysis efforts, as well as check in on general flotilla coordination and administration.” The first half hour, the group slowly became personally introduced and discussed everything from rationing to ship power demands and reactor levels. When finally the topic turned to the expedition itself, Dr. Stasi eagerly took the initiative, opening several files and pages on the display screen.

Several sheets full of equations, numbers, all utterly nonsensical to the untrained eye but a carefully crafted work of art to Eliana. She began in the middle of a thought: “We’d already had our suspicions from the direct observation of the phenomenon from afar, but it was the probes we sent and the active sensing performed in just this past hour that has all but confirmed our suspicions.” The conference room watched intently, trying to make sense of the many incomplete and seemingly inconsistent photographs and datatables. The vocabulary about warp-similar signatures, event horizons, and some kind of flux was lost on many of them. But as she spoke, Dr. Stasi began to arrange them, compile them, slowly building up to something larger.

At last, Miller interjected, “Eleina, what is it exactly that you’re showing us?” Some semblance of an image had begun to form, but it was still far from curtain, still lost in patterns and terminology only apparent to a cosmologist.

“I’m right on the cusp commander, we need only take all of this we’ve compiled and let the image build itself.” She began to run a program, hinging back and out away from the screen, allowing it to be seen by all.

The conference room watched in awe as the photos and data began to map themselves in a program, forming into a larger final image that could be comprehended. The glowing spot near to the center of the nebula now enhanced to show great jets of gas and particulates emanating out and into the nebula, still superheated and charged, providing the apparent glow seen throughout. But what caught their eye most was the center. The image seemed almost unreal. It showed what appeared much like a black hole, surrounded by distorted visions of the space beyond and surrounding, but in the very center where they had expected the inky black of oblivion, they saw what seemed to be a constellation.

“It somewhat looks like the ace of spades,” Miller blurted, before he could stop himself. It was the first thing he saw in the pattern.

“I- what?” The doctor looked at him, quizzically. She squinted, tilting her head some, “Well, I- I suppose it kind of does.” She thought, is this really how the discovery of the first natural wormhole happens, with a game of connect-the-dots? “Well, that aside, sir,” she began again, “what you are looking at is an approximation of what we believe to be the first ever discovered natural wormhole.” 

The conference room filled with murmurs and a buzz of shocked expressions and discussion.

“So then, that begs the question: what lies beyond?” He completed the line of thought, awestruck himself but concealing his disposition.

“My thoughts exactly, sir. We ought to send an expedition at once.” She replied eagerly, staring expectantly into the commander’s eyes.

Miller hesitated, pausing to think the idea through thoroughly. We have no idea where that thing leads, he thought. It could be unstable, or strand them. But even he could not ignore the gleam in his own eye, a sense he had not felt in such a long time: wonder. The voyage had imparted him with such a sense of wonder that he had not experienced in decades. What lies beyond that veil? If we do not go into the unknown now, are we forever squandering humanity's chance for discovery, let alone our own? They had been sent here for this very purpose. No one would blame him for taking the safer option, but all who came had come for their hope to experience the unknown just like this. He could not pass up this opportunity.

“Doctor, begin to study the wormhole for the potential of traversability. I hereby lifting the radio communication blackout, all crews return to your vessels and prepare for a burn.” He began to see that suspense and unease begin to burn away in the faces of the crew, melting into determination and zeal. “Dismissed,” he called, and the room whirled into a flurry of people moving about.

Gliding through the hatch to the main corridor, Lieutenant Commander Becker came up beside him. “Bill, send out a message to the TRAPPIST-1 Astran command. Inform them of our findings and our intent to traverse the gateway.

“Aye, sir,” he said, parting from the commander’s side as they emerged onto the command deck.

“Commander on deck!” He heard over the loudspeaker, emerging onto the bridge. 

“Thank you Lieutenant Gates, you are relieved,” and he slid once more into the commander’s chair.

The burn to the wormhole lasted three days, the flotilla crossing several lightyears of space through a mixture of traditional engines and low power warp drive usage. Miller felt the familiar force of gravity beneath his feet once more in the mixture of spacetime bending and direct acceleration. During the journey.

Their insertion placed them in a high orbit, some 300,000 km away, yet the sheer enormity of the gateway left it to occupy a substantial portion of the visual field in front of them. The jets of gas and dust visible from afar now took on a more dim haze that emanated through the gateway, cycling through and around it.

A radio transmission echoed through the bridge. “I wonder if the nebula itself is some sort of byproduct of the wormhole’s sustenance. Notice how the clouds are emanating through from the other side.” Dr. Stasi and many of the vessel commanders had gathered virtually to discuss. 

At such a close distance to the gateway, the magnificent ace constellation now was one of many in the new cosmic background. “I’ve checked every star known to the institution’s database, none that we have complete data on can be the destination system,” Dr. Stasi remarked.

“So it's truly a whole new world, then?” The commander asked.

“It appears so.”

“Well, we’ve only one mission left,” he grinned.

“Is everyone prepared?” The doctor asked.

Each vessel in the flotilla checked in their ready status. They would cross all together, all at once, ready to face the beyond as one.

“Well then, all ships commence burn. Ensign?” He gave the order, and gestured to the helm.

“Aye sir,” Boule replied.

Each person aboard the ship felt themselves gain weight suddenly. The weight of almost three times their own mass pressed them down into their seats. Even with warp drive assistance, the burn to cross the wormhole would be immense, requiring incredible impulse.

The burn lasted ten whole minutes, each moment making their breath shallower than the last. When it finally came to a close, the sudden release caused a sudden dizziness to overcome much of the crew. We made it, Miller thought.

“All ships check in,” the commander said, regaining his composure.

Each ship but one had been accounted for. “Does anyone have a visual on LCS Turing?” For two heart-stopping minutes the fleet tried desperately to regain contact with the lost ship to no avail.

“Sir,” Becker hesitated, “Sir, I’m reading a large chaff field around LCS Turing’s last known position.”

Miller’s mind began to race, thoughts forming and breaking apart as he tried to reason with what could have happened to the turing. Whatever happened, one thing was apparent: it was dust, and if he did not react and lead his people that moment, they could be too.

The loudspeaker sounded over all vessels, “General Quarters.”

The air of excitement just moments before turned to raw, unadulterated hatred and resolve. Whoever had just blown the Turing from the sky would not get off lightly.

Crews across every ship strapped in, the warships formed a perimeter around the defenseless civilian vessels. For several minutes, the ships sat circling, scanning, and trying to detect any hostile forces in the area to no avail.

Finally, an eerie, incomprehensible sound was received by each ship. Some alien languages blast across a number of speakers and consoles. The linguists immediately tried to begin deciphering, but there was only so much they could do in such short notice.

“Bucker ready point defense,” the commander yelled.

“Already done, sir,” the lieutenant commander was cool under pressure and flipped through the fire control systems with practiced precision, “just trying to…” he paused, “I have a lock on four closing vessels, radar cross section indicates frigate size.”

The ship spun about in evasive maneuvers as shots whizzed past at fractions of light speed. The Harmony spun about, revealing a high-focus laser. Tracking carefully on one of the targets, it melted through the thick metal plating, torching the systems inside, rendering it inert.

“One down, sir,” Becker reported. “But we’ve got incoming.”

Dozens of cluster missiles rained down upon the flotilla. The ships flew in a carefully coordinated dance around one another, each warship avoiding collisions while desperately trying to provide covering fire for the civilian ships.

“Their technology is far superior to ours, sir, they have some form of plasma-based weaponry, it’s eating through our hulls,” Bucker yelled over the cacophony.

“Order all ships to activate cyclers,” Miller shouted.

“Aye, sir!”

Cyclers were a form of early rudimentary plasma-based shield technology only used in the most dire of cases for their tendency to overheat and their tremendous energy cost. However, they did come with the benefit that they had seamless absorption against plasma-based weaponry, simply being incorporated into the shield cycle. 

A final salvo of torpedoes from the LCS Harmony ended the battle, detonating the final craft in dual nuclear explosions. On the bridge, the air was grim as the weight of the loss began to set in.

“Casualty report Lieutenant Gates, please.” The commander turned to the men behind him, a look of shock and horror in his eyes.

“LCS Turing is chaff, sir, lost with 122 souls. Minor injuries were reported across the rest of the fleet during the engagement, but overall casualties were low for such an ambush.” He paused, allowing the full weight of the engagement to dawn.

“Dr. Stasi was on the Turing, no?” Miller asked, dryly.

“Yes, sir, she was.” He replied, staring down slightly toward the floor.

“Just who the hell were those b******s anyhow, and why did they attack so suddenly?” He felt the rage rising in his chest, unable to cope with how under his command he’d led over a hundred innocents to their deaths.

“Our linguists are still in the midst of their investigation of the messages, but they seemed automated, not directly sent,” he turned to face the commander. “Sir, we will find out what happened here.”

“Very good, Lieutenant," but as he said the words, something had already caught his eye. Within only a few million kilometers sat a red dwarf star, but what was around it left him flabbergasted. A colossal metallic structure coiled its way around the star, pulling out its gasses and plasma and funneling them through, ejecting the bright magenta colors of the Eclipse Nebula, then extending down into the wormhole.

That must be how it’s powered, it’s not natural at all. He thought. If not natural, then who built it? And how are they related to those who attacked us? Miller found it impossible to believe that those who built the great coil structure could have possibly lost in the engagement with them.

“...unless they were weakened somehow.” He said out loud. The officers turned to look at him, in anticipation and confusion. “I have a theory as to how we were attacked.” The thought angered him, how pointless it would be, “but I’m not certain yet, I’ll have to speak with the linguists.”

In the coming days, the message was slowly decoded, although heavily warped through time and corruption. “Alert! Enemy,” with the message came some words even the best linguists couldn’t discern, ”vessel, you enter the space of the Nuva’ad, leave or be destroyed!” was about the Apex of what they could deduce.

“Attacked by an automated defense program,” Miller sighed, running his hands through his graying hair. “All those dead for a glorified answering machine when nobody’s home.” He felt the weight of each of their souls weighing on his own.

“They knew the potential risks, sir,” Bucker said, trying to reassure, “they died experiencing a joy beyond themselves, a dream realized. We should all be so lucky.” 

Services were held in honor of the fallen aboard the Harmony, their deaths are to become just another rallying cry to continue the dive into a potentially dangerous world of infinite unknowns.

The coming weeks saw the flotilla seek out remaining signs of these “Nuva’ad,” but every turn wrought nought but ruined ships and charred remains. The last remnant found was transmitted from the helical device surrounding the dwarf star. With it was the last will and testament of the Nuva’ad peoples. 

Denizens of the (unknown) galaxy, should you receive this message, it is to say that our society has fallen to the (unknown). Should you discover our technology, let it serve you as it once did us. However, caution to not let your arrogance blind your steps as ours did. Ever strive for the perfection you believe yourself to have already achieved. Do not grow complacent, or once again (unknown) may rise from the depths and swallow your world whole as it did ours. May Nuva’s peace be upon you.

Humanity now rests on a knife edge, thrust into a world it does not fully comprehend, led into a new galaxy, ‘Acer,’ where it will strive to grow in the umbra of those who came before.