Burnham turned, her face unreadable. Then she said, “Tilly. You’re on the bridge. The narrator isn’t.”
Stardate: 58734.2
For the next thirty minutes, the U.S.S. Discovery became the single most tedious place in the galaxy. Stamets and Tilly argued about spore drive efficiency ratios for twenty-three minutes. Dr. Culber organized hyposprays by expiration date, narrating his own actions in a monotone. Saru broadcast his particulate log—a six-hour presentation on “The Fascinating Lulls in Nebular Wind Patterns.” star trek discovery channel
Lieutenant Saru, his threat ganglia twitching violently, pointed a trembling finger. “Captain, we… we inadvertently crossed a subspace frequency. The crystal—it’s not a natural formation. It’s a relay . A reality-altering broadcast tower. Every ship within five light-years is receiving this channel. We can’t change it. It’s… locked.” Burnham turned, her face unreadable
Burnham pinched the bridge of her nose. “Saru, tell me again. Slowly.” The narrator isn’t