Posted on Thu Jul 2nd, 2015 @ 10:23am by Commander Bertrand Cuprum

Mission: Debts to be settled......

The corridor never ended. Bertrand could smell the smoke and the felt the fear in those with him as they ran. He pushed himself as fast as he could but was barely able to keep up.

Milly suddenly slid to a halt, "Contact!"

He could hear it again, the click and whir, the dancing of red lights in the gloom, the sound of heavy treads. He still couldn't see them though.

Milly and Denise fired ahead into the empty corridor, and he followed suit, firing blindly at shadows and imagined movement.

"It's not working," Denis called.

"Fall back!" Bertrand tried to scream, but couldn't make himself heard.

"We need to get to Engineering," Lt Quiff said. "Form up. We are going to rush the Borg line.

The bigger security detail took the lead, while Milly, he and Agrim held back. Lt Quiff lead the charge down the corridor, into the whirring and smoke and lights. Suddenly they were struggling with invisible opponents. Then, one by one, they suddenly relaxed and faded from view.

Milly was grabbing at him, "Move Bertie!"

Then there was motion all around him. He fought hard lashing out with his arms. Something stabbed into his right shoulder.

Suddenly the room was still but full of dead bodies. So many faces he knew, all staring blankly at the roof. No blood, no trauma, just.. dead. He looked at his own arm as it started to fade away from sight.

He tried to run but his body wouldn't move, tried to scream but his mouth wouldn't open. He felt his heart stop...

"AAAAAAAHHHH!" Lt Bertrand leapt up in bed. Instantly the room was flooded with light. His breath rasped as his wide eyes flashed around the room.

It wasn't familiar yet, but he recognized the clothes on the back of the chair. His uniform.

He reached out tentatively and felt the warm minds around him, allowing himself to be calmed by the mundane passage of their thoughts.

He looked down and the damp knot of sheets. He was covered in cold sweat and his right arm ached.

He got out of the bed and moved quickly to a device on the table. He ran the modified tricorder over himself and looked at the readings.

Dormant. No unusual activity from the Nanites. The dreams always left him fearing the Borg had returned in range and were assimilating him in his sleep. Dr Parr had told him it was normal for him to have flashback and dreams, but they should pass in time. He felt like giving that smug Vulcan a resounding slap with his artificial arm.

He allowed himself to fall into the chair by the table and began to focus on calming his breathing. It was all in the past. There was no threat here now.

He rose and crossed to the replicator. He wouldn't be getting any more sleep tonight.

"Scotch on the rocks," he muttered automatically. "Belay that. Override syntahol protocols, authorization Bertrand C-13. Give me real Scotch."

The drink appeared on the dispenser. He deserved that. Didn't he?

His mind turned to those in his dream. He didn't want to but they were all still so clear. Young Milly was training for her pilots rating. Denis had been sweet on her, but she had a boy back home. Denis said he didn't mind if she didn't. He hadn't liked Lt Quiff at the time. He seemed to be more caught up in red tape than getting out and making a difference. Look where that got them.

He grabbed up the drink and downed it in a single go. He glanced at the chronometer. Still another four hours till he was back on duty.

'You could safely have another, then,' suggested his subconscious.

Safely? No, not safely. He was never safe when he drank, but safe was a relative term wasn't it.

He shouldn't be alone though. Trouble was he didn't know any one on this tug, not really. And they were all children. Most of them hadn't been born when Wolf 359 had happened. It was a different Federation; no Borg, no Dominion, the Cardassian war had finished, the Romlans hadn't been heard for in nearly a Century. Everything was about getting out there and being exposed to as much of the universe as we could.

He looked into his hand. He was holding another glass of scotch. He hadn't remembered asking for it. He placed it carefully down on the replicator's recovery plate.

"Guess I'll go to the office early today," he muttered aloud.