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Previously on Star Trek: Discovery:

My captain.

My friend.

Gone.

It is our ruling that the defendant

be stripped of rank

and hereby sentenced to
imprisonment for life.

The only other female Michael

I ever heard of was the mutineer.

You're not her, are you?

The Michael Burnham on my ship.

Eight thousand one
hundred and eighty-six.

I would like to extend
an official invitation

to you to join the Discovery.

We are creating a new way to fly.

An organic propulsion system.

Hold tight.

You're in Ilari. The moons of Andoria.

All those planets, all those places,

and you're home like
it never happened.

What the hell could do
this to a dozen Klingons?

Run.

Set phasers to kill!

So, is our new guest settled in?

Snug as a bug in a rug.

You helped start a war. Don't
you wanna help me end it?

Burnham, Michael.

Temporary assignment
to science division,

U.S.S. Discovery.

Rank: None.

Uniform synthesis is complete.

Computer, cancel mirror.

You look smart.

It's a lot less scary
than your convict suit.

Like a clean slate, right?

It's not quite as easy as that.

Oh, this was sent for you.

You were in the shower when the,
um, ping went off. That's how...

I was fully clothed, so, I thought,

well, I'll save you a
trip to the depot.

Tilly.

Yes. Less. Less extraneous words.

It's not gonna shut
up till you open it.

Burnham, Michael.

Do you accept the last
will and testament

of Captain Philippa Georgiou?

I'm sorry, I didn't know.

Michael Burnham to the bridge.

I'll see you in engineering.

Bridge. Direct.

As first officer, I take
pride in knowing every name

and assignment on the crew manifest.

You were to be on the
prison transport shuttle

that left yesterday.

Captain Lorca offered
me an opportunity.

I can tell by your threat ganglia
that you weren't consulted.

The captain keeps his own counsel.

Had he inquired,

I'd have suggested the duty roster

lacked any opening for a mutineer.

"A valuable asset."

- That's what you called me.
- I was speaking hypothetically.

Politely.

And as someone who was certain
I would never see you again.

You can tell your threat
ganglia to relax.

I'm only here to help.

My ganglia remain unconvinced.

Scanners. Expedite my targeting sweep.
Multi-spectrum.

- Laterals included.
- Aye, sir.

Scanners confirm two
Klingon Birds-of-Prey.

Targets heading away
at offset vectors.

Charge main phasers to full.

Let's take 'em out before
they know we're here.

Charging.

- Vectors received.
- We've been located are being scanned.

Keep the warp engines topped hot.
Landry, we're waiting.

Solution calculated.
Firing main phasers.

First target destroyed.

- Second Bird-of-Prey still in.
- Take it out!

- They're firing torpedoes.
- Shields to max.

- Diverting power.
- Commander.

We're all dead.

Very nice.

Very polite.

The Discovery is now the
only Starfleet ship

with a displacement-activated
spore hub drive.

Which means, when it's up and running,

we will be able to materialize
anywhere in the known universe.

Behind enemy lines, above
the Klingon homeworld.

Anywhere.

But we will be alone.

We will not have backup.

There's just us.

And we get one chance...

to get it right.

We'll do better next time, sir.

It would be hard to do worse.

Mr. Saru, run the simulation again.
And again.

- Burnham, with me.
- You heard the captain.

Computer, reload simulation.

Working.

We're the tip of the spear
in a science vessel

filled with wide-eyed explorers.

- You know what they need us to do?
- They need us to win.

They need us to survive,

Burnham.

Wanna know how you're
gonna help me do that?

I'm happy to assist Lieutenant Stamets

with the refinement
of the spore drive.

Said the xenoanthropologist.

I also studied quantum mechanics at
the Vulcan Science Academy, sir.

I know. But I'm gonna
put you to better use.

These are some of the deadliest
weapons in the galaxy.

I study war.

And this is where I hone my craft.

I try to learn from the best.

Here.

Now this I think you'll
find uniquely interesting.

You've met once before.

It has a natural aversion to light.

Same as me.

Why would you keep something so
dangerous onboard your own ship?

That thing killed a dozen
Klingons on the Glenn,

and there's not a scratch
on it from their bat'leths.

If we're gonna win this thing,

if we're gonna have a chance
of saving the Federation

and everyone in it,

we need the best weapons available.

So, what material is in a claw

that can shred the hull of a ship?

What's a hide made of
that can withstand

the firepower of a phaser set to kill?

I need you to find out.

And weaponize it.

- Synced and corrected by martythecrazy -
- www.MY-SUBS.com -

Scans indicate a diet likely based on

foraging for vegetation

or other passive means
of obtaining nutrition.

Lorca thought you and I
would make a good team.

Your science. My tactics.

Together we can deal with
Lorca's little monster.

How do you know it's a
monster, Commander?

Because I've seen
what it's capable of.

So have you.

Let's call it Ripper.

That's what it looks like.

That's what it does.

Your Ripper...

appears to share some natural
traits with the Tardigrade species,

a docile creature that lives
in the waters of the Earth.

A micro-animal

capable of surviving extreme heat
and subfreezing temperatures.

Did you say "microscopic"?

In our case, somehow, macroscopic.

Huh.

How did it get on the Glenn?

All the recent logs were corrupted.

But the Glenn's captain
made an earlier entry

that security detected a stowaway.

There was no hull breach.

And no unregistered microbiota in
the transporter's pattern buffer.

But this was found rummaging
around in the lower cargo decks.

We need to find something
Lorca can use on this thing.

Poison sacs, pain inducers,

rage glands.

You judge the creature

by its appearance.

And by one

single incident from its past.

Nothing in its biology
suggests it would attack,

except in self-defense.

Commander...

this creature is an unknown alien.

It can only be what it is... and
not what you want it to be.

It's amazing how much I
hate Vulcan proverbs.

You're new here,

so let me share a piece of wisdom.

Lorca isn't interested
in what you are.

He's interested in what
you can do for him.

And if he needs us to make that
thing useful in his war effort...

that's what we're gonna do.

Admiral Cornwell.

I didn't realize you
were eating, Captain.

Excuse the breach of protocol.

We just received a distress signal
from the planetoid Corvan 2,

- a mining colony...
- Near the Aneto system. I know it.

- Sending it through now.
- We're under Klingon attack.

Our patrol ships have been destroyed.

Our magnetic shields are
degrading under bombardment.

They will fail in six hours.

- Daddy!
- Find cover!

- I can't find Andy!
- We need immediate evacuation.

We need immediate evacu...

Corvan 2 generates 40 percent
of the Federation's dilithium.

If the pipeline's cut off,
that's half the fleet grounded.

The Klingons ambushed the blockade
that was protecting the colony,

and now the closest Federation
ship is 84 hours away.

Yours is the only ship in the fleet

with a chance of
getting there on time.

Is the Discovery ready to jump?

I told you we'd be ready
when you called, and we are.

Discovery's made dozens of
small jumps with no issues.

We can make it the full distance.

You have no doubts?

None.

There's no way we'll be
ready to jump that far.

You told me you knew
why the Glenn failed.

The Glenn crashed into an undetectable
Hawking radiation firewall

when it exited from a mycelial plane.

As a result, all the
biologicals onboard spun out.

You can prevent that from
happening again, right?

- Yes.
- So what's the problem?

Captain, as I've explained to you,
every time we try a long jump,

we lose navigational stability.

Remember? Jumping is probabilistic.

The longer the jump, the
more possible outcomes.

I get it. It's trial and error.
Let's try something.

We lack the processing power
to make the requisite number

of calculations to hold a course.

What were they doing that we're not?

We took this tech from
Straal's lab on the Glenn.

It was an augmentation to
their navigation system.

I've incorporated it
into our drive unit.

But it won't load completely.

To function optimally,

it would appear to require
some kind of supercomputer.

Must've missed that on the Glenn.

Sir...

being chased by a lethal monster

in a death trap surrounded by
Klingon bodies is distracting,

but, no, I would've noticed
an extra supercomputer.

That's just me.

What's that thing?

That thing is what we
took off the Glenn.

It interacts with the
spore drive somehow,

but I think it's missing a part.
I can't get it to activate.

In exactly five hours, 49
minutes and 46 seconds,

the Klingons will take Corvan 2.

Captain, this can't be rushed.

You listen to me, Mr. Stamets.

They need us. Now.

There are some things I could
try to extend the jump range.

Get it done.

You're welcome.

Captain, be advised, the spore
drive is online and primed.

Primed? Can you control
where we're going or not?

It's possible, maybe
even likely, but...

Done.

Open shipwide communication.

Yes, Captain.

Attention all personnel.
Stealth protocol.

Run silent. Black alert.

Black alert. Black alert.

All crew to battle stations.

Be ready for whatever's on
the other side of that jump.

- Disengage shields.
- Shields are offline, standing by.

Loading spores into the drive.

Drive?

Excess energy cavitation initiated.

Tactical. Reroute all available
power from impulse over to phasers.

- Weps are double hot.
- Engineering?

Spore drive is online.

Plot destination for Corvan 2.

At your pleasure, Captain.

Go.

Sensors indicate

external temperature of...

They went offline. It's too hot.

That is not Corvan 2.

- No, sir, it is not.
- Stuck in a gravity well

of an O-type star.

Collision is imminent.

Collision is not an option.

Shields up. Full reverse.

Wrong off-ramp, Lieutenant Stamets?

My nav buffer overloaded. I
couldn't hold the plotting.

Ah!

Rear thrusters engaging.

We are...

clear of the gravitational well.

Re-engage warp drive.

Get us the hell out of Dodge, Mr.
Saru.

Aye-aye, Captain.

This had better be good.

- Lorca's on the warpath.
- Look.

The moment the spore
drive came online,

the creature's central nervous system

showed micro-patterns of activity
in the frontopolar cortex.

You said it hates light.

Maybe it didn't wanna
crash into the sun.

It reacted before we jumped.

I saw it cry out in distress.

It's more likely a connection
to the spore drive itself.

I don't see how that's relevant
to Ripper's aggression.

It may not be,

but it helps us understand
its motives and behavior.

Understanding how it feels
was not our mission.

Captain needs to know how
it fights and kills.

Lorca told me to keep you on track.

That your curiosity
might lead you astray.

We're not letting him down.

Hold still or you'll wind up
looking like a Tellarite.

How's the patient, Dr. Culber?

Well, I took care of the
skull fractures first.

Another millimeter, the palatine
bone would've pierced his cortex.

The frontal lobe is overrated.

It only contains memory
and emotional expression.

It's completely unnecessary.

Well, I'll save it.

Just in case you might wanna
have a feeling one day.

Gentlemen. Every starship in the
galaxy, Klingon or Federation,

runs on dilithium crystals.

If we can't protect
Corvan, the war is lost.

So, can you fix the
lieutenant's inability

to get our ship to go where
it's supposed to go?

I warned you, Captain.

Time is an essential
component of good science.

Discovery is no longer
a science vessel.

- It's a warship.
- That is not the mission I signed on for.

- I'm not a soldier.
- Well, then get off.

Leave the ship.

If I go, I'm taking
everything with me.

My spores, my drive.

This entire ship was designed
around my scientific specialty.

Everything on this ship is the
property of Starfleet, Lieutenant.

How do you wanna be
remembered in history?

Alongside the Wright Brothers,
Elon Musk, Zefram Cochrane?

Or as a failed fungus expert?

A selfish little man

who put the survival of his own
ego before the lives of others.

Are you done?

Well, you have some
blood on your face.

And your hands, Lieutenant. Get
back to work. Fix the problem.

Uh, computer, open a shipwide hail.

Working.

Confirmed. Broadcasting shipwide.

Computer, play the audio
transmissions from Corvan 2.

This is my last message.

Another round of bombs just struck.

Zaphod is dead.

Our bunker is collapsing.

Mommy, Mommy, wake up.

- Wake up.
- Please.

Save my children.

Anyone. Help them.

We've lost Mine Four and Mine Seven.

Two hundred and ten souls.

All gone. Particulate
venting is offline.

My team can't breathe.

I don't know if anyone
is listening to this,

but if you are...

goodbye.

We're doing this.

Computer, release a localized
oneirogenic penthrane mist

into the containment pen.

- Wait, wait. Why are you sedating it?
- I'm gonna lop off its claw

so you can figure out
what makes this thing

so good at killing Klingons.

I do not think that's a good idea.

We have no idea what effect
sedation may have on it.

And we've seen how it
responds to aggression.

Sedation protocol complete.

Computer, open containment pen.

Computer, lights to maximum.

Computer, seal containment pen.

Emergency transport. Sickbay.

Find a use for that creature.

Don't let her death be in vain.

Crew manifest accessed.

Door.

I received your message.

What is it you so urgently
need my help with?

I've been thinking about the way
I treated you on the Shenzhou.

At times...

I was very unfair.

You often undermined me, dismissed
my opinions out of hand.

You wouldn't be wrong to call
me out for being selfish.

But I can't help notice that your
threat ganglia are quiet now.

Fascinating.

You're trying to gauge my response

to that thing in the pen, aren't you?

Commander Landry was about
to attack the creature.

And I believe her death was...

an act of self-defense on its part.

And now, based on your
lack of threat response,

I'm ready to submit that the
creature's primary drive

is not aggressive.

It's not a predator.

You have not changed an iota, Burnham.

Your contrite words were insincere.

They were necessary.

I was wrong to question
your place on the crew.

You will fit in perfectly
with Captain Lorca.

Why were you on the Glenn?

What were you looking for?

Spores are the one thing the Discovery
and Glenn had in common.

Stamets would kill me if he knew
I was bringing you these.

You should probably go. I
appreciate you taking the risk,

but this could be dangerous.

Unless we get the drive online, we're
not gonna make it to Corvan 2.

All those people are gonna die.

And I can't help them.

I can help you.

Stay back. Keep still.

I brought you something...

I think you might like.

If you don't, well...

they can blame whatever
happens on my curiosity.

Computer, open containment pen.

Hello.

These are Tilly's
tricorder images

from our mission on the Glenn.
Look.

The doors to the engineering
room were blown outward.

The shatter pattern of the
reaction cube, the destruction,

like something inside was going crazy.

A very big something.

Then there's excess shielding
surrounding the room.

It's as if the crew was
trying to keep something in.

What's your hypothesis?

That Straal was holding
that thing in his lab?

Captain's log said they found the
creature in their lower decks.

I remember you chided Straal about
not growing his own like you do.

You were talking about mushrooms.

They didn't have a forest on
the Glenn like Discovery has.

If they stored their mushrooms dry,

it would have to be in
tremendous quantities.

In their lower stores. Right there.

Where the creature first appeared.

It entered the ship in
pursuit of the mushrooms.

Their spores, actually.

This ship's spore drive travels
on a network of mycelium

that's spread across
the entire galaxy.

We just can't control where we go.

But maybe the Tardigrade can.

Straal said he found a way to
solve the navigation problem.

You said his modifications
needed a supercomputer, right?

What if its name is Ripper?

The phaser will only piss him off.

Think of it as a placebo
for my skepticism.

Energize.

My God, you're right.

Look how it interacts with the spores.

It's as if they're communicating.

My tricorder is detecting
energy transfer.

Some form of symbiosis.

It is talking to them.

That hardly seems fair.

I always wanted to converse
with my mushrooms.

Not just converse.

Maybe even tell them where to go.

If we can figure out how to interact
with that tech from the Glenn,

we may be looking at
our new navigator.

Let's try this again. Corvan 2.
Black alert.

Black alert.

Mr. Stamets, are you ready?

Black alert.

Stand by, Captain.

Energize.

We just transported the Tardigrade
into the reaction cube.

The tech from the Glenn is activating.

This is every charted star system.

The Tardigrade is holding all
these coordinates in its head.

Course is set for Corvan 2.
We're ready to jump, sir.

Is anybody not ready?

Go.

Help!

Find cover!

- Oh, God!
- Get down!

- It's okay.
- Evacuate!

Targets one and two destroyed.

- Full stop.
- Captain?

Initiating full stop, Captain.

Multiple Klingon vessels converging.

Diverting nonessential
power to shields.

The Birds are at 1,000
kilometers and closing.

- Their phasers are locked.
- Hold tight, everybody.

- Steady.
- Shields holding at 80 percent.

Seventy-five. Sixty-five.

Engineering?

Spore drive is primed, Captain.

On my order.

Birds-of-Prey closing
in at 500 kilometers.

Shields at 30 percent.

Coordinates input.

Twenty.

- Captain.
- Lieutenant Stamets advises

- that the ship is ready to jump.
- I need them closer. Wait.

Let's send our Klingon friends
a message they won't forget.

And...

go.

Who saved us?

Commander Michael Burnham.

Vulcan Science Academy
commencement, 2249.

Recipient, Vulcan Science...

Computer, open containment pen.

Hey.

You feeling better?

I brought you the good stuff.

I'm sorry.

Hi.

Long night, huh?

Everybody's talking
about what you did.

You helped save many on that colony.

Seems like you're gonna have
another reputation to get used to.

It's probably none of
my business, but...

my mother used to say, um...

That's not true. My mother never
really said anything to me

unless she was criticizing my hair.

But you...

I don't know, I just think...

if it made its way across
the galaxy to find you,

you should open it.

And you shouldn't be
afraid to open it.

Because I watched you tame the
most incredible creature,

and, well...

you're not afraid of anything.

That's none of my business. Right?

Identity confirmed: Burnham, Michael.

Do you accept the last
will and testament

of Captain Philippa Georgiou?

I accept.

Hello, Michael.

I hope that wherever this
finds you, you are well.

I imagine you have
your own command now.

The captain of your own ship.

I have always tried to
show you by example.

The best way to know yourself

is to know others.

You are curious, an explorer.

So I am leaving you my
most beloved possession,

handed down through my
family for centuries.

My hope is that you will use
it to continue to investigate

the mysteries of the universe,

both inside and out.

And keep your eyes and heart open.

Always.

Goodbye, Michael.

And good luck.

Know that I am as proud of you
as if you were my own daughter.

Take good care.

But more importantly,

take good care of those in your care.

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- www.MY-SUBS.com -