The Shape of Absence

Posted on Tue Jul 21st, 2026 @ 7:44am by Captain Marc Steyn & David Steyn

1,475 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: Season 1, Episode 1: Ashes of Wolf 359
Location: Starfleet Medical - San Francisco Bay

Commander Marc Steyn stood beside the open doors of his medical room at Starfleet Medical, looking out onto the private terrace beyond.

A cool breeze drifted in from San Francisco Bay, moving gently through the room and stirring the edge of the medical gown he had refused to change out of. Beyond the terrace, the city carried on beneath a pale afternoon sky. Shuttles moved between the towers of San Francisco, ferries crossed the water below, and the familiar shape of the Golden Gate Bridge stood unchanged against the horizon.

It was a strange thing about Earth., it looked exactly the same. The planet had been untouched. The people still innocent to the horrors that had unfolded in their defence. The sun still rose. The tides still came in. Families still walked along the waterfront, unaware—or perhaps unwilling to remember—that only days before, humanity had come within moments of extinction.

Marc rested one hand against the doorframe. He should have been in bed recovering. The doctors had made that very clear. But staying still had never come naturally to him. Not after a battle. Not after a crisis. And certainly not after this. Because every time he closed his eyes, he was back there., back on the Roosevelt. Back on the bridge.

The doctors kept telling him he was lucky.

Lucky.

The word had followed him since the moment they pulled him from the wreckage.

Lucky that the bridge had retained enough structural integrity to remain attached to the saucer section.

Lucky that the emergency forcefield had activated when the hull had been breached.

Lucky that the rescue teams had found the Roosevelt before his life signs had faded completely.

Marc wasn't sure luck had anything to do with it. He hated the word.

He firmly believed there was nothing fortunate about surviving when so many others had not. There was nothing lucky about being the one left behind.

He looked down at his hands.

They had finally stopped shaking after two days.

The memories had not.

The pain had not.

The faces of the people who had stood beside him on the bridge had not.

His mind returned to those final moments.

The Roosevelt had been dying around them when the Borg weapon struck, the forward section of the bridge had been torn open in an instant. The viewscreen, the forward bulkhead, everything beyond it had vanished into the cold darkness of space.

For a fraction of a second, there had been nothing then the emergency forcefield had activated. A shimmering blue barrier had appeared where the front of the bridge had once been, holding back the vacuum beyond. It had saved his life., it had also condemned him to witness everything that followed.

The bridge crew around him disappeared into the chaos of decompression and structural collapse. Consoles went dark. Warning lights flashed through smoke-filled air. The captain's chair became nothing more than twisted metal.

The people around him were gone.

And Marc was still alive.

He remembered trying to move. Trying to understand why he was breathing when so many others were not. Trying to understand why he had been the one spared. After that, there were only fragments, the sound of rescue teams cutting through the hull, the distant voices of Starfleet officers calling his name, a medic telling him to stay awake.

Then darkness.

Marc looked back toward the bay. The view should have brought him peace but instead, it reminded him of the one thing he had been unable to stop thinking about since waking. Daniel.

For nearly two days, he had not known where his son was. That had been the part that nearly broke him, not the Borg, not the destruction of the Roosevelt. Not waking aboard a Starfleet medical transport with no idea how much time had passed. It was not knowing whether his son was safe. Whether Daniel knew he was alive. Whether the last memory his son had of him would be a goodbye.

Daniel had been on Earth when the battle began.

Safe.

That was what everyone kept telling him.

Safe.

But Earth had been attacked. Communications had failed. Reports had been incomplete. For almost forty-eight hours, Marc had existed somewhere between hope and fear.

He could not stop imagining Daniel watching the reports. Watching the fleet gather at Wolf 359. Seeing the Borg cube, knowing his father's ship was somewhere among those defenders. Then watching the reports stop. Watching the names of damaged and destroyed ships begin appearing. The Roosevelt among them.

Marc wondered how long Daniel had believed he was dead. The answer had finally come as a Starfleet officer entered his room carrying a data PADD and gently cleared his throat to announce his presence.

"Commander Steyn?"

Marc had immediately recognised the tone. There was a particular way people spoke when they were about to deliver news that could change someone's life.

"Your son has been located."

Located.

The word had frozen him.

He hadn't heard safe, he hadn't heard alive. Only located. His heart had stopped, hiw world falling out from under him.

Then the officer had smiled.

"He's safe."

Marc had closed his eyes.

For the first time since Wolf 359, he had allowed himself to breathe. Daniel had been with family on Earth when the Borg cube appeared. He had been nowhere near the battle but reports say Earth had been in chaos. He had survived.

But Marc knew his son had still been there.

Waiting.

Wondering.

Fearing.

The soft chime of the door interrupted his thoughts, Marc turned.

"Come in."

The doors opened and for a moment, he saw only a silhouette before the figure stepped into the room.

Daniel.

Marc forgot how to breathe. His son stood there, older somehow. Not because of the days they had spent apart, but because of what those days had taken from him. Marc had spent two days imagining every possible outcome. Every possibility except this one. Daniel was standing in front of him.

Alive.

Safe.

Real.

For a moment, Marc could only stare.

The commander who had faced the Borg without hesitation, who had continued giving orders while his ship tore itself apart around him, suddenly found himself unable to hide behind rank or discipline.

He wasn't a Starfleet officer in that moment. He was simply a father seeing his son again.

"Dad?"

The word broke through the silence. Marc tried to answer but nothing came. The emotions he had kept buried since Wolf 359 finally broke through.

The relief.

The grief.

The exhaustion.

The overwhelming realisation that after everything he had lost, the one thing he could not bear to lose was still standing in front of him. Daniel crossed the room and Marc barely had time to react before his son wrapped his arms around him. He caught him immediately holding on with both hands as if letting go was no longer possible.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Marc closed his eyes.

Daniel was alive.

He was safe.

"I'm sorry," Marc whispered.

Daniel pulled back slightly.

"For what?"

Marc opened his mouth.

He wanted to explain. For leaving. For surviving. For making him wait. For making him wonder if his father had disappeared forever. For all the times duty had taken him away. For every promise that had been interrupted by another mission, another emergency, another crisis. For making Daniel endure the same fear Marc had spent his life trying to protect him from.

But the words would not come, instead, all he managed was:

"I don't know."

And that was the truth.

He had spent his entire life preparing for disasters and for impossible choices, for moments where lives depended on him making the right decision but nothing had prepared him for this. Nothing had prepared him for the simple miracle of holding his son again. Then his strength finally gave out.

The adrenaline that had carried him through the battle, the rescue, the examinations, and the endless hours of forcing himself to keep going finally disappeared. Marc swayed.

"Dad?"

Daniel tightened his grip as he felt his father begin to collapse. The Starfleet officer who had delivered the news had remained nearby and rushed forward to help support him. Together, they guided Marc back toward the bed.

"I'm fine," Marc murmured automatically.

Daniel looked at him, tears still visible in his eyes.

"No, you're not."

For once, Marc didn't argue. as they lowered him carefully onto the mattress as the medical monitors activated around him. Daniel remained beside him, holding his hand.

Marc looked up at his son.

After everything Wolf 359 had taken from him, that was enough.

For the first time since the Borg cube had appeared on the viewscreen, Marc Steyn allowed himself to stop fighting.

And finally, he let himself feel everything he had spent so long trying to survive.

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