Lieutenant Mark Jansen stood before one of the Cataclysm's panoramic apex windows, peering into the kaleidoscopic depths of warp-Bubble hyperspace. Beyond the reinforced panes, ribbons of light unfurled like molten auroras, their hues bending around the dreadnought's quantum field in a ceaseless dance. Even after countless jumps, the vista retained its allure—beauty laced with unease, a testament to the supernova corridor's half-charted mysteries and Betelgeuse's enduring shadow.

  The apex itself was a marvel of engineering. Rising over two kilometers above the ship's superstructure, the triangular spire gleamed with expansive galleries and slanted observation ports. Broad ramps and occasional grav-lifts linked its decks, so a glance from the uppermost tier revealed a cascade of terraces—workstations, consoles, and railings interwoven like a vast orbital atrium. The antimatter reactors' muted thrum vibrated through every surface, a constant subsonic pulse.

  Corporal Hara and Private Reyes joined Jansen, their outlines bathed in the hyperspace glow's shifting purples and blues, refracted through layers of quantum distortion.

  "Sometimes I forget the Cataclysm's sheer scale," Reyes said, his fingers brushing the railing. "These corridors alone could house a frigate's crew."

  Hara nodded, her gaze tracing the window's edge. "Sub-decks for labs, training bays, even hydroponic farms—it's a floating metropolis, built for the long haul."

  Jansen turned from the vista, the swirl of hyperspace fading to a peripheral shimmer. "We'll need it all," he said. "Uncharted anomalies, that penal colony's distress call near the K-type star—this'll test the ship's limits again."

  Overhead, radial walkways crisscrossed the spire's summit, officers moving briskly between levels, their murmurs focused on the impending jump exit. The deck's lavender glow—standard for mid-quantum transit—cast a serene sheen, punctuated by a chime signaling six hours until dropout.

  They descended a curving ramp to the apex command deck, a circular expanse where consoles ringed a central holographic dais. Polished floors reflected the soft ambient light, and through the high windows, hyperspace's faint radiance filtered in. Captain Nathaniel Rourke and Commander Elira Laehy stood at the dais, studying a holo-map that hovered in midair—its luminous contours sketching star systems near Betelgeuse, nodes pulsing with real-time updates.

  Specialized stations encircled them, Federation officers hunched over screens aglow with pale-blue data: supernova residuals, subspace chatter, stellar geometry. The occasional ping of scanners blended with the deck's resonant hum.

  Chief Engineer Nanduri, arms crossed, tilted his head as a junior engineer highlighted a blinking zone on the map. Red crosses peppered the Betelgeuse quadrant—lost settlements, their icons dimmed to gray, relics of the supernova's wrath. A faint green marker labeled "Archeon" sat among them, equally faded, a casualty of ancient storms.

  "These blacked-out sites," Nanduri said, adjusting the holo with a tap, "are old corridor outposts—unreclaimed, some centuries gone. The wave erased them. No one's ventured back."

  Laehy's brow furrowed as she studied the display. "Our charts are patchy here. The corridor's nav beacons are degraded or missing—pushing past standard lanes means bracing for the unknown, especially near that penal colony."

  Rourke pointed to a crimson swirl in the map's upper quadrant. "The Betelgeuse nebula itself—" He paused, tracing the animated splotches of red. "Astrophysics estimates its dust cloud spans ten, perhaps twenty light-years, a lingering scar from the blast. Our data's thin."

  A stillness settled. Jansen's eyes flicked to the star's ghostly outline. "Twenty light-years of nebula... that's huge"

  Laehy tapped a cluster of known routes. "The corridor runs bigger parallel. We'll skirt its edge, but it could mask anomalies—gravitational eddies, radiation spikes. We proceed with caution."

  Nanduri shifted, thoughtful. "Some of those dead settlements might hold salvage—or just bones. The Federation never prioritized recovery."

  Hara's gaze lingered on the red crosses. "Once thriving hubs, now scoured clean. The corridor doesn't forgive."

  Rourke exhaled, his focus sharpening. "Our mission's the penal colony—flares from that K-type star take priority. But if anomalies surface, or we spot something significant, we keep the wider scope in view." He zoomed the map outward, revealing the corridor's span between Earth's sphere and Betelgeuse's fringe.

  The projection sprawled—solid lines for stable jump lanes, dashed ones for uncertain pockets. The Cataclysm's blue icon pulsed near the corridor's rim, with the Indomitable's marker blinking farther off and the Dawnseeker's flickering deeper in.

  Nanduri leaned closer, eyeing anomalies near the K-type star. "Storms or not, we'll get within star-lance range. With shields holding, the Cataclysm can orbit close—then link up with Dawnseeker and Indomitable."

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  A ripple of agreement passed through them. Jansen, Hara, and Reyes stepped back as Rourke and Laehy traded final navigation notes. Officers at the ringed stations fed fresh data into the dais—wave intensities, lane traffic, pirate scans—all clear of Betelgeuse's core.

  "Alright," Rourke said, his voice cutting through the low buzz. "Route's set. We hold the jump schedule—watch for radiation shifts. Trouble's unlikely, but readiness is non-negotiable."

  Laehy turned to Jansen. "Lieutenant, prep the shuttle crews. If the star's output jams our sensors, we'll need close-range recon—the corridor's no help there."

  "Understood, Commander," Jansen replied, crisp. Hara and Reyes saluted in unison.

  The briefing dispersed, the holo-map fading to a dim standby glow. Officers returned to their stations, toggling between corridor feeds and local scans. Jansen cast a final glance at the Betelgeuse nebula's swirl—a spectral veil of dust and decay, stretching silent across light-years.

  A faint shudder rippled through the deck as the Cataclysm adjusted its quantum trajectory. Beyond the forward viewports, hyperspace shimmered in streams of lavender and gold, guiding the dreadnought toward its exit near the K-type star. The stillness that followed carried a blend of anticipation and caution—supernova territory was a realm of unknowns, and the Betelgeuse quadrant's sparse charts offered no firm anchor for lost colonies.

  Hara's voice dipped low. "Those blacked-out zones—a graveyard of Federation ambition."

  Reyes nodded, subdued. "Some might be recoverable if the storms have truly ebbed. Not our mission, though."

  Jansen shrugged, his gaze distant. "Still, twenty light-years of dust could conceal anything. I'd wager we'll spot something unexpected."

  Commander Laehy caught Jansen's approach and inclined her head. "Lieutenant, jump's holding steady. Shuttle teams ready?"

  "Primed, Commander," Jansen replied, snapping to attention. "Set for local scans or any... unforeseen tangles."

  Her lips twitched upward. "These routes are rarely traveled—could be anyone out there. That's why the Cataclysm's built to face the extremes."

  Captain Rourke glanced up from the holo-dais, interjecting. "We'll drop out near the K-type star. The colony's flagged odd flares but lacks the shielding for close data. Our hull can take the heat—briefly. The Indomitable and Dawnseeker will hold the perimeter, watching for storms or stray threats. We'd prefer quiet, but we won't bank on it."

  Jansen eyed the map's depiction of the star's flaring corona. "No intel on rogues this deep, sir, but we'll stay sharp."

  Rourke dismissed them with a nod, directing final system checks. The apex deck's hum persisted as crew prepped for potential supernova quirks. Hara, Reyes, and Jansen excused themselves, crossing into a wide, glass-lined walkway. Below, decks bustled with personnel orchestrating the stellar approach.

  They rode a grav-lift down one level, emerging onto a thoroughfare framed by sleek archways. Polished plating gleamed underfoot, and overhead, pulsing lights guided off-duty crew. Glass pods housing algae and shrubs flanked the path—silent cogs in the ship's oxygen cycle. Passing officers offered curt nods.

  They reached the cafeteria, a sprawling half-deck oasis with tiered seating and curved hull windows. Even in hyperspace, the tinted panes framed a faint prismatic glow. Self-serve counters offered nutrient packs, hydroponic greens, and a rotating menu—small comforts amid the ship's austere purpose. A low murmur of voices filled the space, crew unwinding from relentless tasks.

  Hara claimed a window seat, exhaling. "Coffee while reality twists outside—strangely grounding." She waved at the streaming colors.

  Reyes loaded a tray with rations. "Some supernova survivors swear hyperspace shows echoes—old star ghosts. Tales or truth, who knows?"

  Jansen settled across from them, his eyes drifting to the viewport's tapestry of light. "If storms flare near that star, we'll adapt fast," he murmured. "Just hope it's not a bigger mess than we're ready for."

  They ate in quiet. The cafeteria's softer lighting—a reprieve from the apex's glare—mimicked normalcy. Nearby, marines swapped drill stories, their posture crisp yet relaxed. Engineers at another table dissected corridor mapping, citing fragmented logs.

  An intercom chimed, calling for quantum alignment prep. They cleared their trays into automated slots and filed out, tracing a corridor that arced with the ship's vast curvature.

  At a junction, the lights shifted from lavender to muted gold, signaling jump recalibration. The deck thrummed as antimatter rods tuned their output. Through a side viewport, hyperspace's brilliance began to dim.

  A calm voice crackled overhead: "All hands: quantum drop in T-minus thirty minutes for coolant sweeps. Hold stations until cleared."

  Jansen, Hara, and Reyes quickened their pace, threading through corridors that sprawled like a city's concourse more than a starship's core. They passed towering hull bracers, each braced with magnetically sealed passages, and skirted cargo lifts descending into the ship's depths—rumored to conceal advanced sensor suites, labs, and shuttle bays.

  Reyes glanced up a soaring passageway. "If anything can weather stellar flares or cosmic quirks, it's this beast."

  Jansen's lips quirked wryly. "Lucky us. A frigate wouldn't dare nudge a star this close. The Cataclysm's hull's a fortress—so they say."

  He paused at a glowing console, eyeing wave intensity readouts. "Supernova residuals steady?"

  A technician shook her head, focused on her screen. "No spikes. Debris and flares are within bounds—nothing off-script."

  Jansen nodded curtly, leaning on a stanchion. "Good. The star approach will test us enough."

  They moved on, boarding a lift that hummed upward to an intermediate deck near the apex. Muted chatter swirled around them—operators tracked wave patterns, residual dust, and solar flux on wide displays, their calm underscored by the machinery's steady thrum.

  An overhead chime pierced the air: "All personnel: quantum drop in five minutes. Lock systems for reentry."

  Jansen met Hara's gaze, a flicker of anticipation passing between them. "Time to face what's out there," he said. Beyond the hull, hyperspace's swirl teetered on the brink, ready to unveil a raw slice of the supernova corridor—barren, perhaps, or otherwise.

  With a faint jolt, the quantum drive disengaged. Colors bled from the viewports like a receding tide, yielding a star-strewn void. The corridor's dust glimmered faintly in the distance, a haze of uncertain form. Closer, the K-type star burned with a mild orange glow, its steady light grazing the viewport's edge.