Dreaming in Stereo II

 Episode Name:  Dreaming in Stereo II

   Written By:  Grey

         Cast:  Foster, Grey, Lanie, Leres and Malloy.

  Produced By:  Starfleet

  Directed By:  Grey

     Aired On:  Thu Feb 03 03:03:10 2005

     Stardate:  54727.1

Time: Mon Jan 31 17:41:40 2005

Stardate: 54721.4

There is a decided difference between quarters on the station and quarters on the USS Aegis, and even within those quarters, variations. For Caleb Foster's quarters, the only real change is the set of acoustic drums that takes up one corner. Good thing for tritanium walls, eh? The Timefleet pilot isn't at the drums right now. Instead, he's sitting, stretched out, on the leather couch under the viewports. A PADD lays flat on his chest, and his head has drooped to the side in a resting position against back of the couch. Looks like someone fell asleep while reading. Maybe all the short nights caught up to him, but there he lays, the only sound beside his regular breaths the occasional beep that indicates that PADD is still on.

Someone's been sleeping for some time too. Long enough for dreams to begin. In his mind a shuttle begins to form around him, the struts around the forward viewport slowly forming around a view of the stars. He's at the conn with the galaxy spreading out before him.

A slight smile forms on Foster's face; this is usually a prelude to something good. However, training still makes itself known as even Caleb's dream self goes through the same procedures he goes through when he flies for real. Rubbing his hands together to warm them slightly, he moves to check the status of the shuttle's engines before bringing them online.

The engines hum to life at the slightest touch, ready and willing at the pilot's touch. The control panel though looks different. There are new functions on it, though its almost like Danube's conn.

Foster pauses briefly, brow furrowing at the changes in the control panel. He turns to access the computer and bring up a copy of the flight control instructions. Not that he'll really need them, but at least he should know what the new functions are. Just in case.

When he turns he realizes the whole flight deck is empty, not another officer with him. The computer pulls up the information easily enough, displaying the information dated 2385 for the Phoenix runabout class.

Foster looks around the flight deck for several long moments, curious. A runabout isn't that big, so *someone* else should be around. He turns back to place the engines on standby, and transfers the documentation to a PADD so he can carry it along with him as he goes looking. Sure, he could just ask the computer where the others are, but that's not as much fun.

The shuttle is laid out like a Danube, except longer. Maybe twice as long. It also lacks the military look, even to the point of having...bedrooms? Yes, bedrooms. One large bedroom and one small bedroom. In the larger room is a large, impressive rack of woman's shoes. In the smaller room is a neatly made bed with a teddy bear wearing a pink frilly top. Beyond that the rooms are almost barren.

Foster continues to look around, starting with the 'Master' Bedroom. He takes a few moments to look at the bed. Does it look like it's been used recently, and by more than one person? Or is it military-style made? And the shoes. Have they been used recently, or is this a shrine? He looks down at himself, to get the cut of his jib, so to speak. And then, finally, he speaks, "Computer, scan for biosigns. Is there anyone else besides me currently aboard?"

Everything is pristine. Its been used, but someone has cleaned everything. The sheets are perfectly made, the shoes cleaned. Foster's wearing civilian clothes, and judging by the look of them something picked out by a person with an eye for style.

The computer replies, "Negative. Kaitlyn Lanie and Jera Foster are not aboard currently.

Well, that's one thing solved. Foster turns and heads back to the flight deck, but doesn't head straight to the flight controls. Instead, he heads to the closest computer console and instructs the computer to bring up current personnel files for himself, Kaitlyn Lanie, and Jera Foster, as well as all recent logs. Never let it be said that Foster is anything but exhaustive. Even in his dreams.

He gets to see a few things before the coms go off, the computer indicating an incoming transmission. Jera Foster born 2379 to Kaityn Lanie and Caleb Foster. Caleb Foster resigned comission 2383. Kaitlyn Lanie resigned commission 2383. That's about when the transmission comes in, the signal going off loudly.

. o O Foster thinks, "We have a daughter! So... it all worked out, then."

. o O Foster feels exultant. And strange too. He doesn't quite know how to describe it.

Foster blinks a couple of times, just staring at the personnel records of his ... his *daughter* before the coms sound loudly. Well, he'll have time for it when he gets back from the com. Leaving the computer station, he hops over to coms and opens the channel. "This is Caleb Foster. Go."

The crackles to life, taking a moment before it clears. "Caleb? Its Kaitlyn. Where are you? You were supposed be here already," comes Lanie's more mature voice from the com.

Caleb can't help it - an almost silly grin appears on his face. "I know, I know. You know me, how I sometimes get a bit distracted when I'm flying. When was I supposed to be there?" For that matter, he wonders WHERE he was supposed to be. He asks the computer for an estimate to where he was *supposed* to be to pick up Kaitlyn. And his daughter, maybe?

"Caleb, how could you get distracted," comes Lanie's voice, now very angry. "You know how dangerous the storm is, and you're goofing off!" she says, now shouting over the com. The computer's response is bring up his flight plan, a track headhing to the planet Beonis VII, a trip estimated at two hours.

"I'll be there as soon as I can, love," Caleb replies. "I promise. You know that I wouldn't want to delay seeing you." Or his daughter! "As soon as I get off with you, I'll set course at maximum and see if I can cut a bit off my time." And he usually can. "And... there's something I need to talk to you about, but I can't do it over an unsecured com channel." Like why he can't remember the last, oh, seven years?

There is silence from the com for a long moment. Finally there is a dep intake of breath and then, "Caleb, I need you. Jera needs you. How could you forget us? The storm will be here in 45 minutes, and we can't be on the planet when it gets here." And that's when you feel it, the tickle of need in the back of your mind. The need to do something, to have something, or get something. You can't put your finger out it, but the feeling of need is there.

"Yelling at me won't help, dear," Caleb replies. It doesn't make sense that if something that dangerous was going on, and was threatening his wife and child, that he'd be this far behind. "I've never let you down when it counted before, and I won't now. You know that." He reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck, trying to figure out... what, what, what is it that he needs?

. o O Foster thinks, "Why would I be this far behind? I mean, I've only *been* here for how long? A few minutes?"

"Caleb, how far away are you?" Lanie asks over the com, voice turning a little from angry into part fear. She's definitely worried.

"Not close enough, according to this," Caleb replies, truthfully. His tone is one where he's carefully hiding his real emotions in the matter. He can't show his fear or Kaitlyn will be all the more worried. He asks the computer to transfer the comm to the flight control station, and hops over there to get the ship going, at maximum speed. "Do what you have to do to be safe. I will be there. I promise."

His fingers press the buttons and adjust the slides, but it seems wrong. The runabout turns to the side, rolling into a slow right turn but the engines don't respond. "Not. Close. Enough?" comes a very slow, scared question from Lanie. The need is still there, growing further in his mind.

Caleb's voice slips a little in his iron control, "Kaitlyn, please, let me concentrate." He starts to swear, softly, in Klingon, which he only does when he's really getting stressed out. He twitches slightly, trying to push off that need with the stronger need. He jabs at the PADD to try and get readings from it - what are those extra controls? Maybe one of them? If the engines are still online, and working properly as they were a few moments ago, why is this happening?

"Caleb? That storm is coming faster. Its getting worse," Lanie says softly over the com. "Caleb, I'm worried," she whispers, with a young girl calling out 'Mummy, where's daddy? I'm scared mummy!' in the background. The instructions seem clear, like he was using the controls controlling.

"I'm coming as fast as I can," Caleb replies. Come on, come on, come on. Work, damnit. WORK. Kaitlyn will recognize that tone - it's what he uses when he's in duty mode, when he's doing all but sweating it out. He attempts to force a system reset - a reboot even - to get the controls back online properly. He doesn't have time to feel out this new change.

The system resets without problem or error and the controls, and the shuttle systems, comes back up quickly. All systems respond positively. Lanie for the moment is quiet, though the young girl is crying in the background still, calling out that she needs daddy.

"All right," he mutters under his breath. "Programming for maximum warp." He tells the computer to transfer propulsion controls to his system and turn off all non-essential power to everything except his current location and shields. Emergency protocols, in short. And he begins working the propulsion system, trying to eke every bit of power out of it.

. o O Foster thinks, "Come on. Come on. Come on. Get me there on time. Come on. Come on. I know I can do it. I *have* to do it. Come on. Get me there on time."

. o O Foster feels a sense of panic that's being forcefully held down. Panic later. Work now.

No matter how careful he is, no matter how precise, it doesn't work. For a moment there is hope as the shuttle stops its slow turn. But then the impulse engines come to life and shuttle begins a slow barrel roll. Backwards. The sense of need is almost desperate now, throbbing in his head.

Foster's hands shake in his effort to regain control over the errant shuttle. No good. No good. Why is his mind split on what he needs to do? He needs to be with his wife, his child, and he needs something else. That makes no sense. His own needs must come *after* that of his wife and child. No good. No good. Must control. Must gain control. Oh Ifni. He's losing speech inside his own head now. The cursing grows louder. Duty. Love. Terror. Finally, the shiver runs down his back. "Love," he chokes. "I don't think I'm going to make it."

. o O Foster's emotions roil. There is need, yes. And need. And panic. And terror. And fear. It's practically a mental shout for help, tragically likely to be unheard at all. He's on the Aegis, after all, and there wouldn't be anyone TO hear it.

"DADDY!" comes to the yell of what could only be Jera. "Daddy! Mummy's hurt. The sky is angry daddy!" comes more yelling through a suddenly noisy com link, the sounds of wind and worse in the background. The shuttle pauses in its backwards roll and finally begins to move forward at one quarters impulse. Ever so slowly. "Daddy, we need you! Where are you daddy!"

"I... I'm... coming, sweetie. Fast as I can." Foster thumps the console once or twice. You know, that always does seem to work - thumping on things, that is. "What happened to mummy, dear? Tell daddy."

"Something hit her head," comes a teary, scared voice. "Her head is bleeding daddy," says Jera, breaking into sobs. The thumping actually works, for a moment. After the second thump the runabout jumps to warp for a moment and then back out, shuddering to a stop. "Daddy, we need you!" she yells again, though now her voice is morphing oddly, turning into a man's voice. "I need you," it says. That sense is need TO DO SOMETHING is literally pounding in your head.

Foster thumps the console again. Hey, if it works once... "Sweetie, is anyone else there with you?" He finds himself pausing for a long moment. "Who are you? What are you doing to my family?!"

. o O Foster's terror twists abruptly - to rage. Foster has anger in him. A lot of it. It comes to to the fore when he's feeling threatened. Or, in this case, when his family is.

This time the thump does nothing, the shuttle listing to the side in the dead of space. "I am the silent one, daddy," says the voice, turning back to Jera's. "DADDY, MUMMY'S DEAD. I NEED YOU DAD...AAAIIIIIEEEE." The screams ends suddenly, with the sound of crashing.

"NO!" comes the loudly-voiced word from the Timefleet pilot, followed by a 'thud' and a 'thump'. The first is the PADD on his chest impacting the wall after being sent flying as Caleb wakes, rather abruptly. The second is Caleb impacting the floor as he falls off the couch. He lays there for several long moments, muttering to himself. "Just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream." Hopefully, he can forget this one, as he has so many previous ones. But, somehow, he thinks that that won't be the case.

Time: Tue Feb 01 12:48:43 2005

Stardate: 54723.3

On some mornings, Lieutenant JG Kaitlyn Lanie awakens at an early hour to see her husband off to his daily Timefleet PT sessions, then takes her time getting ready for her own day to begin. Then some days, like today, once he's out of the bed she rolls back over, steals his covers and pillows and buries into the mess until it's the time she /has/ to wake up. To judge from the mussed blonde hair that peeks out from under a mass of blankets stolen from the other side of the bed, that's exactly what's happened today.

Some dreams begin slowly, images taking shape out of the darkness. This dream begins almost suddenly. In the blink of an eye Lanie is sitting in a small office. The room has a single desk, which she's sitting behind. The wall to her side has several model ships on it, the last one marked USS Argonaut NCC-82134.

Lanie shifts to roll over in her sleep, but instead finds herself nearly falling off a chair. Behind a desk. In an office-- She stops short and glances around, rubbing at her eyes, mouth opening and closing a little as she licks her lips, mouth dry from sleep. It takes a moment for her to adjust to the change, but suddenly it must seem quite normal to her because her look changes to one of curiosity as she rises from the seat and moves to the ships on the wall to look them over, one hand raised toward the closest one but not quite touching it yet.

As she reaches the wall the details start to pop out. The top one is Station 419, then below that an Akira class marked USS Postmaster. The next stands out suddenly. Its a Nova class named USS Caleb Foster. The bottom one is the USS Argonaut. As she reaches out details about herself come into view. Her uniform is different, almost strange, and her hair is almost to her eblow, are starting to whiten.

Reading the names, a play of emotions pass over Lanie's face. Namely, Caleb Foster as her eyes go back to that one. "Caleb," she says softly, not realizing that her voice, like the rest of her, has changed. At least, she doesn't realize it at first, it's the room and the items in it that she's paying attention to. And as with the way of dreams, it doesn't at first seem like anything, no matter how bizarre or out of place, is different than it should be. Finally she notices her hand, her sleeve, her hair... Her eyes peek around the room with a new intensity to take in each detail.

The room is immaculate, the very image of professionl perfection right down to the way the PADDs on the desk are stacked. There's not a single item personal in nature except for two pictures on the desk. The first is of a slightly older Foster and Lanie, arms around a young girl of maybe five or six years. Being between the two, its clear she's their daughter. The second is of a girl about 15, the same girl as the first picture, but older now.

Torn between a sense of surrealism that things aren't really happening and the dreamlike state of 'everything is as it should be and I'll just go along with it all,' with the latter starting to win out, Lanie sinks back into her chair. Her eyes veer toward the pictures, then to the ships, then back to the pictures. "Caleb...?" Someone, somewhere, has hit the recognition button. "Caleb?" This last time she says it, it's louder, like she's trying to call across the room for him. The sense of things being normal has wavered and cracked and shock strikes home, causing her to move a hand to her throat in a catching her breath kind of motion.

There is answer, but just silence. Its the oppresive silence of dreams that hangs almost tangibly in the room. As her hand goes to her throat, her fingers brush over the collar of her uniform. Its takes a moment, but then she realizes there are not one, not two, not even three, but four pips there.

. o O Lanie thinks, "Caleb? There's-- this isn't right. Wait... what's going on here? I feel like I'm playing dress-up in my mom's uniform again or something. And who... is this us? He looks so handsome. But... the ship? That can't mean he's... no. This isn't right. It can't be right. Even if I got old, he's ... Caleb. He wouldn't die. He wouldn't do that to me."

Lanie's fingers roam over the pips for a moment and she looks a bit more confused for a moment, like a thousand thoughts just ran through her head all on top of each other. "Uh-- computer? What stardate is this?" she asks, trying to put some sense to things. "And," she continues, this time softer like she's speaking to herself, "Where exactly am I?" And while you're at it, can you find Caleb Foster and tell him this isn't funny, that his wife would like him front and center so she can throw something at him for giving her a scare with whatever joke this is?

The computer chirps for a moment, and then says, "Current Stardate is 76363.38. You are in the Captain's Ready Room aboard the USS Argonaut commanded by Cpatain Foster, stationed in the Kellinen Reach to provide support to the Enxica colony." It chirps another moment. "No current living match for Foster, Caleb. Historical records indicate best probability match for your request is Lieutenant Foster, Caleb, assigned to Timefleet. Killed in action on stardate 66051.05."

Well, the Captain Foster part is right. Only it's supposed to be Caleb holding that rank. If she wasn't already in the seat, Lanie's expression and subsequent going pale would show she'd be falling into the chair right now. "Surviving family?" she asks as she studies her hands for a moment and then looks back to the pictures, reaching to take the 'family' shot and study it closer, using her thumb to trace Foster's face in the image.

. o O Lanie thinks, "You aren't dead. It's not true. You promised me forever. This isn't how things are supposed to be. Something's wrong. You said forever, Caleb. I won't /let/ you be dead."

. o O Lanie thinks, "She looks like him."

. o O Lanie feels strangely empty, but full of emotions that keep warring with each other. There's a happiness, a sadness, the sharp pangs of grief, the disbelief, the warm acidic love that eats holes in all the other emotions and, of course, confusion.

"Surviving family include daughter Foster, Jailen born to Lieutenant Foster and Lieutenant Junior Grade Lanie on Stardate 56229.13. Lieutenant Junior Grade Lanie offically changed family name to Foster after Lieutenant Foster's death. Lieutenant Foster also survived by father Foster, Attevius."

Lanie uses the side of her thumb to wipe at her eyes as tears well up within them. "Lo--locate Jailen Foster?" she asks, the first word breaking a little with the tears she's trying hard to hold in check. Quieter, eyes moving from Foster to the young girl, she murmurs, "Jailen. We have a daughter. I hope you aren't disappointed, Caleb. I know you wanted a son. 419. We were on 419 when she was born. Or at least, conceived. Is this how it happens? Is this /right/?"

The computer chirps for a moment, and the then, "Unable to locate Foster, Jailen. Last record indicates Foster, Jailen bound for Enxica colony in the Kellinen Reach. Record dated six months ago. Foster, Jailen travelling to join husband Krylow, Deima."

Lanie takes that in before she realizes, "Enxica colony? That's here. Estimated time of arrival?"

. o O Lanie thinks, "We have-- I have a daughter. And she's married. To... Krylow? Alek's son?"

"No estimated time of arrival. USS Argnonaut is not currently traveling to Enxica colony." No sooner does the computer go quiet then the com for the ready room chirps with an incoming request.

. o O Lanie feels shock. Didn't expect /that/ one.

"Wait, not currently--" Lanie cuts off, shaking her head. "Yes?"

"Captain, we have the raiders in sight," comes the voice over the com. "You wanted to notified immediately."

"Thank you, on my way," Lanie says, replacing the picture and standing before she realizes how easily it came to her to respond. She shakes it off and pauses at the doorway to glance, not at the pictures, but at the ships on the wall before she turns back to head out.

The bridge is a mess of tension. Officers who would normally make eye contact with their captain instead offer quick nods and watch their stations so intently. On the viewscreen is visible a ship, something almost menacing. It must be quite a ways again since its still small. One officer does make eye contact, a commander who is standing before the first officer's seat.

Lanie nods a greeting. "Status report?" she asks, her voice sounding surprisingly calm and even to herself. And is that a hint of /authority/ undertoning it? Well, there's even a sound of experience there, too. Any trace of the timid still-growing-into-her-rank LTJG she'd been is now gone. She sits down, claiming the Big Chair.

. o O Lanie thinks, "What was that Captain Balin said? Don't start eyeballing his chair? Hopefully it was more comfortable than this one."

. o O Lanie feels anxiety and uncertainty. Something bad's on the horizon and she's worried about it.

The First Officer sits after her, turning towards her to talk. "The Daren is still too far away to scan properly, sir. We don't know if Jailen and Deima are still alive or not. We should know in a few minutes. Conn's pushing us pretty hard, but with the damage we took at Enxica we're rattling and shaking some."

Lanie rests her elbow on the chair, running her hand over her lower face for a moment before she sits up straighter and nods. "I want to know as soon as we scan them. Keep trying to make contact. What's the status from engineering on repairs?"

The First Officer glances up the screen, watching the ship. "We're combat ready. All phasers and launchers are online. Shields are working too. Helm will be a little sluggish and we're topping out at Warp 8.1 or so, otherwise we'd reel that ship in."

. o O Lanie thinks, "Jailen's on there and she's alive. If I have to go out there myself to get her, I will NOT let her go. Or that fool husband of her. Sense of his father, that one."

"Good." For a moment, Captain Lanie-Foster looks almost pleased. Apparently she didn't expect things to be in quite such working order. "We'll just be patient and stay alert." Patient. Right. Her fingertips keep lightly padding against the side of the armrest, just a tiny movement to betray her true anxiety held back behind a mask of neutrality. "Stay at ready status. I want to be prepared for anything from them."

And so the bridge remains quiet for a moment, as the ships play chased and chaser. Finally the science officer glances up. "Sir, we're scanning the ship now. Picking up 14 Human lifeforms, 3 Bajoran, 1 Human-Betazoid and 2 Vulcan. Those match with the missing colonists. All appear alive and healthy based on vitals." Then she feels it, the sense of need pulling at the back of her mind. The need for someting. The need to do something. She can't place it, but its there.

Lanie nods, looking relieved. "Good. Inform medical to be prepared for them anyway, just in case we're not picking something up. Beam them right to medical." She smiles, though by the time the smile reaches the corners of her mouth, it tugs downward in a slight expression of uncertainty.

. o O Lanie feels relief, mixing with that anxiety that just won't go away.

"Negative sir," comes the reply, this time from Engineering. "Their shields are up and they are using transport suppressors. We can't beam them out." No sonner does he finish then Communcations calls out, "Incoming hail from the Daren, sir."

Lanie's brow furrows a bit. "Onscreen," she commands, shifting in the seat, eyes on the screen.

The communications officer nods and turns back to her console, hands tapping for a moment before the viewscreen changes. Sunddenly there is a humanoid standing there, a humanoid with blood red facial ridges and red eyes. "Stop following us," he says, there there is a second voice in your mind, his voice, asking at the same time, "Why won't you help us?" Behind him are two people, Jailen and a young man of about 20 that can only be Krylow and Nabrun's child. The sense if need is growing, starting to work through your mind.

"This is Captain Foster of the USS Argonaut," Lanie says. "Lower your shields so we can beam the colonists aboard this ship." She specifically keeps her eyes off the 'kids' in the background, keeping them on the humanoid who is speaking.

. o O Lanie thinks, "They're alive. Sweetheart, I knew you were. I knew you and Deima'd be alright. You take after your fathers, the both of you."

"Colonists? No, they are slaves," says the humanoid with a vicous sneer. "You and your Federation do not control us. We claimed them as slaves legally, and I will use them as hostages if I have to, starting with these two." In your mind you hear him repeating, "I need your help," over and over again. Everytime its repeated the sense of need in your mind grows.

. o O Lanie thinks, "I'm trying. I'm not leaving you there. I won't."

"They are Federation colonists and you are in Federation territory, subject to our laws," Lanie says, her voice still surprisingly calm. She even surprises herself. It's the typical tone she uses, the sort of voice that the crew wouldn't find out of place. "You cannot claim them as slaves. You will, I repeat, lower your shields and prepare to be beamed aboard this ship. Trust me, sir, resorting to violence such as taking hostages will only make your plight worse."

"We are not in Federation space, nor was the colony," snaps the humanoid. "Even your Starfleet agrees with that," he adds, before nodding to one of the other humanoid, who then prods Deima forward beside the apparent captain. "Stand down, Captain Foster, or this man dies," he says, drawing a wicked looking blade from his belt. In your mind the humanoid's voice still echos, 'I need your help! Help me! I need you!' over and over again.

. o O Lanie thinks, "Well, so much for bluffing him on /that/ note.-- WHAT? What am I supposed to do? I'm /trying/."

There's a tightening along Lanie's jawline, but little other betrayal of emotion as Deima is moved forward. "Captain... I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

The Humanoid captain growls, and his hand snaps suddenly forward. The blade digs through Deima's arm as the young man screams in pain. "Stand down now, Captain Foster."

Lanie does wince a little, but tries to suppress it. "What exactly is it that you want? Until I can be assured that no harm will come to these Federation colonists, I'm afraid I cannot take any other action that I'm currently taking. Now, if you cause harm to come to these colonists, I'm afraid you'll gain nothing."

The humanoid captain growls again, lifting his blade to look at the blood on it. "His blood it on your hands captain," he says, before raising the blade and slamming it into Deima's back. The young man twitches and screams in pain, before collapsing to the ground and off the screen. Jailen begins to scream in the background, pulling against the man holding her. The captain says, "Stand down now, Captain Foster, before the girl dies too." His voice it still calling out into your mind, calling for you to help him even as the need TO DO SOMETHING is throbbing in your head.

Lanie reaches a hand to her head, face scrunched in pain. "NO!" she yelps, going to her feet with one hand still on her forhead. Even the best poker face she can summon isn't enough to hide the shock, horror and pain at /that/. "No," she repeats quieter. "Not her." The hand moves to her side, balled into a fist. "Your shields are no match for our phasers. Release. The. Prisoners. /Now/. You /will/ die if you do not comply."

"Not her?" the humanoid says, looking back to the girl and then back to Lanie. "Her. She is one of your brood, isn't she? I see the resemblence when I look. She'll die if you don't stand down now. I'll give you 10 seconds to comply, Captain."

Lanie reclaims her seat with a dignified, graceful motion. Her fingers slide over her console, targetting the shield generators and transport nullifiers, phasers powered down to 75 percent. Hopefully, it'll just give them a good shaking and take out what it hits. Another bit is added to lock the transporters on the colonists the second it's clear enough to get them. "Fire when ready," she says in a cold, calm voice.

. o O Lanie thinks, "Jailen, I'm sorry. I-- Deima, don't die. Hold on. We'll have you soon, kids. Just hold on. And please work."

Since the communication channel is still open, the humanoid grins as he hears her. "Captain, that was stuipd of you," he says, before nodding to the man holding Jailen. He lets her go and the girl runs foward towards where Deima is laying out of sight. As she does, she's almost running to the captain. The sense of need is pounding so loudly, so heavily now. In your mind you hear one last, "I NEED YOU!". And then the captain's blade snaps backwards, burying itself to the hilt in Jailen's heart. The whole time the humanoid watches with a smile of casual amusement.

No. That's not how it's supposed to happen. They get hit, the ship shakes, Jailen breaks free, everyone gets beamed aboard, Deima doesn't die, everyone's saved and the bad guys get punished. Lanie is Captain Foster, a /Starfleet/ captain. That means she's on the side of right and goodness and will always prevail. "No," she whispers. "No." And meanwhile, her mind replays the blade delving into Jailen's heart, up close, the sound of it echoing over and over and over, rhythmically, like an alarm. And an alarm sound it is, one that's been going off in Lanie and Foster's quarters. As Lanie awakens, tangled into the mess of sweaty, cold blankets that she'd burrowed under, tears stream down her face. "What did I do?" she whispers to the empty room.

Time: Tue Feb 01 16:48:34 2005

Stardate: 54723.7

Nighttime reigns in Malloy's quarters on the Aegis. He's not snoring, just breathing deeply, slow and even. Must have taken a liking to some Andorian ways, as he's sleeping in furs instead of down comforters. Maybe a gift from his quadmates, who knows. All around the room, there are PADDs, cluttering floor, desk and nightstand, along with some books. Grey's Anatomy, everyone's favourite it seems.

His mind wanders from dream to dream, a successful surgery on Mary Fitzpatrick here, a flashback to Foster's surgery there. Then the dream shifts into something new, something more vivid. The tension of the dream is immediate. Something is very wrong, and he's in the middle of it. Around him scurry nurses, carrying equipment as he begins to turn towards a bed on the patient on it.

Malloy arcs his left eyebrow slightly, one of his trademark reactions apparently. Reaching for his medical tricorder and PADD, he walks to the bed he turned to originally, taking a closer look at the patient. As it's the norm, he tries to pull up the patient's file with his PADD checking on case history and name.

. o O Malloy thinks, "Quite busy today. I wish we had a full compliment of staff for a change."

The patient is very famaliar to him, one Femke Nolte. Her face looks pale and drawn and her breath is short as she lies there on the bed. Her stomach is torn open, blood draining from her onto the bed around her. She looks to him, whispering, "Craig..."

. o O Malloy thinks, "Oh God..."

. o O Malloy feels his blood turning into ice in his veins, chilling him to the bone, while his stomach cramps as if grabbed by a fist.

Shock flickers over Malloy's facial features, then it vanishes as quickly as it came. "NURSE!" he hollers, voice booming across the Sickbay. Methodically, quick without mindless haste, he reaches for the console to start the scanning process of the biobed while with his other hand going for the tools of his trade. In this case the tray with the instruments necessary to work on wounds like these.

The hand reaching for tools finds a tool, a dermal regenerator. The scan begins, checking her right ankle as ordered by Malloy. His hand doesn't seem to be following his mind, stumbling over the buttons like a engineer trying to perform delicate surgery. As his hand stumbles he can feel need in the bad of his mind, but he can't quite place it. The need for something, to do something.

"NURSE, GOD DAMNIT!" Malloy hollers in a no-nonsense voice. There's likely hell to pay if he's left all by himself. He's not getting frantic. Yet. Trying to focus on the task at hand, literally, his first intention is to stop the bleeding. "Four units of plasma, *stat*."

The words in his mind are 'Four units of plasma, *stat*' but what comes out is, "One linear ray grid, *stat*." The nurse arrives beside him, giving him a funny look. "Linear ray grid, sir? She needs plasma." Malloy tries to focus on the bleeding, but he can't think of the place to start. There's something wrong, something out of grasp. Nolte looks to him again, "Craig, I need you. Help me."

. o O Malloy thinks, "What in nine hells....?"

Malloy narrows his eyes. "Yeah, dammit, I told you so, get to it." he barks at the nurse. Biting his bottom lip, he squints at the wounds, trying to fathom the best approach. Glancing every so often up at the display, he tries to adjust the scan with his free hand.

. o O Malloy thinks, "Focus, dammit, focus. You did that often enough, hell, she didn't even loose a limb. Gotta stop the bleeding. Gotta stop the bleeding. FOCUS!"

The nurse blinks and starts to say, "You told me to get a li...." before trailing off heading for the plasma apparently. The more his hand tries to adjust the scan the less luck he has. The computer chirps and says, "Negative, patient is not a Bolian. Please choose appropriate scan." That feeling of need, the need TO DO something is growing. Nolte gasps in pain on the bleed, whispering, "Help me Craig, help me."

"I know she's not a Bolian, you damn machine." Temper, temper, Doctor. "I'm helping you, Femke...I'm helping you. Everything's gonna be alright." His voice suddenly calms, sounding almost soothing. Not for long though. "What's taking so long?" That's clearly for the nurse. Tone of his voice changing to his drill sergeant level again. "Someone fix the damn scanner now and set this up and I need someone to help me with the bleeding here right god damn NOW!"

The nurse returns carrying four pieces of...something. Something approriate for surgery on a shuttle, not a human. "Here's the plasma," he says offering it to Malloy. "The scanner is brand new and just calibrated sir. Its working fine," he says, and then taps twice on it. Suddenly there's a scan of the wound before Malloy. "Craig..." whispers Femke again.

Malloy looks in blatant disbelief at the four units brought to him. "Does my wife look like a god damn SHIP to you? Plasma as in blood god damn it. Get to it! Someone come here and stop her bleeding so I can look at the wound for chrissakes!" Nope, Malloy is definitely not the jovial and friendly Doctor at the moment. Stress much? "Hold on, Femke, we're getting you stitched together again."

. o O Malloy thinks, "Stupid ignorant Pakled! They graduate anything that can hold a spatula these days."

The nurse just looks at him like he's a Borg or something similiar. "This is blood, sir. I don't know....." even as he speaks he slowly fades out of the dream, leaving sickbay with just Nolte and Malloy. Nolte's head lolls to him, looking even paler. "Craig, I need you. Its my head."

Malloy reacts with disbelief to the fading of the nurse. He's...gone? Almost getting frantic, he tries to stash the sensation away for future review. He's got his wife to save. "I'm here, Femke, I'm here. Your head is fine...it's fine.... Let me stop the bleeding first..." Taking a deep breath, likely to calm himself, he tries to methodically still the bleeding.

. o O Malloy thinks, "I'm running out of time. Stay with me, Femke, stay with me...Dammit, I can do that. I can do that."

The more is focues on the bleeding the more his medical skills deserts him. He can't even imagine where to start. That feeling of need is now throbbing in his mind, working its way into all thoughts. Nolte gasps and says, "Not the bleeding Craig. Its my head. I can't think. Help me. Fix my head."

Malloy stares in blatant horror at his hands, turning them under his eyes, then tries his magic again on his wife. "Your head is fine, Femke...there's nothing to fix...." he tries to assure her, not sounding very convincing though.

. o O Malloy thinks, "I have to stop the bleeding. I can't loose her...I can't...can't can't CAN'T! Where is everybody? I can't do this all by myself. Somebody help me..."

He has no magic today. His hands are like clubs, unable to do anything to help her. She slowly lifts a hand, resting it on his arm. "Craig, its my head. Help me. Fix my mind, let me think."

Malloy looks up into Femke's face, trying to look optimistic, yet utterly failing. "I'm trying, Femke, I'm trying.." he mumbles, energy leaving him, well, dissipating rather. His hands are slick with the blood of his wife, still, he's almost frantic in his tries.

Nolte's hand squeezes for a moment, before dropping to the bed again. "Craig, I'm not Femke," she says, even though she looks and sounds just like Nolte. "I need help. Fix my head. Please." Then Nolte gasps in pain, her body going limp and slack as the life fades from her.

The Sickbay vanishes, everything flicks into Darkness from one moment to the next. In Space, they say, noone can hear you scream. Unfortunately, Malloy is surrounded by the Aegis. "Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" The loss is clearly audible in his voice. With a sob, Malloy sits up, clutching the furs surrounding him tightly, almost catatonic. Then he starts shaking, shivering, clutching the furs even tighter, then, slowly, he begins to rock, back and forth. "It's been a dream. It's just been a dream...just a dream...a dream..."

. o O Malloy thinks, "I...no. She's alive. She's alright. She's alright. She's save and sound on the station."

Malloy taps his com badge. "Lieutenant Malloy to Lieutenant JG Nabrun."

Time: Tue Feb 01 20:07:00 2005

Stardate: 54724.0

After taking an early shift, Leres returned to her quarters to catch a nap before grabbing a later shift as well. She didn't even make it to bed, but just curled up on the couch in the main portion of her quarters. Her head is resting on the couch's arm, and she's sleeping deeply, the sort of sleep that the exhausted sleep.

One moment she's wandering through a dream from Trill, remembering years past, and the next she's in a different dream, a darker dream. Red alert klaxons are flashing and blaring around her. Security officers run by, weilding phaser rifles. Something pulls softly at a pant leg, a gently tug.

Her dream self is vaguely disoriented at first, but finally Leres looks down at whatever is tugging at her pants leg. "What is it?" She says, her voice just a touch removed, still feeling a bit jolted by the surroundings.

Laying a stretcher at her feet is Gewn, pale and drawn. Her legs and chest and one arm are all injured, either broken and twisted or cut. She gasps out, "Help me, Gela. Help me."

Leres gets to her knees immediately. "Gwen! What happened? Who hurt you?" She looks around at all the confusion, the red alert, phaser rifles. "What happened? Are we being invaded? Who did this to you?" Her expression is a mixture of concern and barely contained panic.

. o O Leres thinks, "What did they do to you, Gwen?"

"You have to...fix...the shuttle," whispers Gwen softly, straining the words out. "Help me Gela." The security officers have passed now, and the only noises are Gewn and the alarm klaxons.

"But I can't just leave you here, Gwen." Gela's got less and less of a hold on that panic. She looks around to see if there's anyone she can see who could get Gwen to the infirmary. "I'll get someone to come for you, then find the shuttle. I'll help. I promise." She hits her combadge, "Ensign Leres to the Infirmary."

As she glances around she realizes the shuttle is only feet behind her. The marks and blood on the floor indicate she was dragging Gwen toward the shuttle only moments ago. There is no answer from the combadge, just silence. Gwen whispers again, "Fix the shuttle so you can fix my head. Please Gela."

Leres isn't one for cursing, least of all when she isn't speaking Trill, but she does when the combadge comes up silent. "Dammit!" She leans down and touches Gwen's face. "I'll get the shuttle right now. Just be quiet and don't move. I don't know how bad your injuries are." She gets up from her knee and heads towards the shuttle then, looking for any obvious source of damage, or what she has to do to get it operational again.

The shuttle is a plain Type XV. There's no obvious damage and the main door even remains open as she approaches. Inside the shuttle is another story. The engine compartment is torn open and parts lays scattered around it.

Leres immediately begins to try and sort out the situation in the engine compartment. She's testing for what systems are running, if the shuttle even has power at all. Though given the status of things, she isn't hopeful. "Got to get this working. Or at this point, organized would work even."

. o O Leres thinks, "I have never seen a bigger mess than this. This is...ridiculous."

Everything looks famaliar to her, and even simple, until she picks up something. Once she tries to focus on it things slide out of her grasp. Her knowledge becomes like sand sliding through fingers. She feels it then, a sense of need in the back of her mind. The need to do something, to get something. She can't quite place it and its not about Gwen or the shuttle. Outside Gwen calls out, "Gela, hurry. Help me. Fix the shuttle and the my head."

Leres covers her face with her hands. "I have to remember." She looks at the parts around her and starts to organize them by size and type. Material. "I just have to relax and calm down. I'll be able to remember if I do that." It's like she retreats into organization as a means to stay calm and get her mind back under her control. She's trying to tune out the situation, tune out the yelling Gwen and remember.

. o O Leres thinks, "I have to remember. I have to remember."

. o O Leres is confused and worried with just the slightest edge of panic coloring her emotions.

It still does no good. Anytime she tries to focus on something, the details slip away. There's just enough to tease the edges of her memory, but nothing more. Gwen calls out again, "Gela, I need you to fix my head, but you have to fix the shuttle first. I need you, Gela. Help me."

Leres moves to the shuttle's doorway as she's doing no good in there. "Gwen, I need you to help me remember. I need to get something. And when I get it I can fix the shuttle." She shakes her head. "But I can't remember what it is. Do you know what it is I need, Gwen? Do you remember?"

" Acute Paracortical Hyperstimulus," say Gwen softly. "Acute Paracortical Hyperstimulus. Acute Paracortical Hyperstimulus. Acute Paracortical Hyperstimulus. Fix my head, Gela, please. Acute Paracortical Hyperstimulus," Gwen whispers, head rolling a little to the side. "Please hurry, Gela." That seem of need is growing, starting to pull at your mind.

Gela looks like she's just inches from a meltdown. "I can't fix your head, Gwen. I can't fix the shuttle. And I can't remember what I need to do to make it all work." Leres has finally had it. "So either help me remember something or shut up!" She covers her face up again, sitting down.

. o O Leres thinks, "Shut up!"

. o O Leres is frustrated, bordering on angry.

Gwen gasps softly, her broken form twitching as she does. Her wounds are still bleeding, slowly letting her life ebb out of her as they go untreated. "I'm dying Gela. Please. Listen to me. Acute Paracortical Hyperstimulus. You need to help me, Gela."

. o O Sternbach thinks, "I remember the tiolet seat. I wonder if you tell your friends, Ana?"

Leres looks at Gwen finally. "Acute Paracortical Hyperstimulus? Is that what's wrong with your head?" She adds, "Tell me about it. Quickly. It may help me to save you, to save us. What does that mean?"

"I don't know, Gela," whispers softly, his pale slowly growing more and more pale. "I can't think, Gela. They stopped it. I can't think it. I can just remember Acute Paracortical Hyperstimulus. You've got to fix my head." As Gwen is slowly dying before you, that sense of need builds and builds in your mind, the need TO DO something throbbing in your head.

Leres goes back over to where Gwen is. "Let me see what I can do." She heads back into the shuttle and looks for a medic's kit, bandages, anything. A PADD hopefully if there's one around and operational. Anything that might help the situation. "I have to do -something-. I can't just sit here and panic. I'm a Starfleet officer. I can do this." Her confidence is at low ebb, but she's trying.

. o O Leres thinks, "I can't let her die. I can't let her die. Acute paracortical hyperstimulus. What is that?"

Inside the shuttle she finds a medkit with a tricorder and a dermal regenerator in it, but that's it. Outside Gwen continues to mumble, slowly getting weaker by the moment.

Leres heads back out to where Gwen is. "Come on Gwen. Talk to me." Oh she wants her to talk now. "Talk to me. Let me know you're alive. Okay? I'm trying to fix you." She takes the tricorder and tries to scan Gwen, to see the extent of her injuries if possible.

. o O Sternbach thinks, "Still an angry little bint, eh, Ana. No surprised there."

Gwen coughs softly, a little bit of blood traiking from her mouth. "Gela, I need you. Please help me," she says, a tiny whisper. She coughs again, and then her body goes limp and soft as the life drains from her.

. o O Hurley thinks, "Systems Manager Hurley? What the hell?"

As Gwen goes limp, Gela's face goes absolutely white as a sheet. "No, Gwen. No. You can't do that. You can't." She reaches down and touches her face. "You can't do this to me! No. No. No. No." Each no is more emphatic than the one prior to it. She's frantic. Tears start streaming down her face as she reaches down and picks up Gwen's body, holding it close to her, starting to sob as she rocks with her. "Oh Gwen, I'm so sorry. So, so sorry. I just...I couldn't remember." Her dream self in mourning, Gela startles awake on the couch, crying. Tears are streaming down her face, her body shaking with sobs.

. o O Leres thinks, "I killed her. It's my fault. I killed her. I'm so sorry Gwen."

. o O Leres is in abject misery, grieving, full of guilt.