Free audio story - The Rim Hunters: Mighty Angry

Awesome Space Adventures: (Read this one first since its part one)

Inspired by Moon People, reviewed on The Huffington Post, I have begun work on a new series. Here is the first installment.

AWESOME SPACE ADVENTURES: (Read this one first since its part one) by Scott Reeves

            Because I decided to write a new short story, so here it is. It has gotten a really cool space battle near the end, so you should stay tuned. There’s aliens too.

            She said she had wanted to go to the store, so he took her. Afterwards, she put her panties back on and they went down to Wal-Mart. They had gotten a stain on them, so she decided she needed a new pair. So she tried them on in the dressing room while he went down the aisles an d brought the groceries from the list she had given to him.

            When they got back home she tried the panties on and he told her he liked them. He had always liked Oreo cookies. That’s why he had brought them, even though they hadn’t been on her list.

            Now this is where the alien comes in. Apparently it had made it’s home in a bag of beans that Darrel had brought. Cheryl found him when she was making dinner. Or found it, I should say. Because it didn’t have sex. It looked like a bean, but it was an alien, about the size of a grapefruit, and purple like unto a grape. That’s why it had taken a hiding place into the bag of beans. It couldn’t be seen by people or it might get taken away and desiccated by the government, so it had hidden inside the bean bag. To avoid capture by the men in black.

            At least that’s what it told her while she was fixing the evening vittles for her husband. I need to get home. Will you help me get home? I was trapped in that Wal-mart for so long, thank God you found me and brought me home.

            Yes, I’ll help you get home, Cheryl told the bean alien. Where is home by the way? she questioned it. And do aliens believe in God? Since you said thank god, I just wondered.

            It’s far, far from here, where all the other aliens live. We’re at war, so we’ll have to be careful or they’ll shoot us before we get back. They will recognize my ship, and if we don’t get passed their line of battle, they’ll shoot us and my ship will blow up.

            She told him she wouldn’t want that, and then her husband Darrel walked in looking for some. He was hungry, and squeezed her pert rear end affectionately before taking the bowl of ham and beans over to their dining table. That’s when he noticed the alien, right before he almost ate into it before realizing the bean on his spoon was alive.

            And so she told him the story, right up until the part I just told you. Darrel said he to would help the alien back home.

            It’s just like that TV show, he said with laughter. Its Okay Alf, your as good as home, he told the bean and they all had a big laugh. Beans don’t laugh like persons do, especially when their aliens, they kind of make a high pitched noise that’s a little annoying if you hear it for too long. But they all new what he was doing anyway, so they laughed along with it.

            When the sun came up in the east the next morning, they went back to Wal-mart, where they located the alien space ship out back around the dumpster where Wal-Mart throws out its trash.

            While she was bending over to open the little hatch, the alien bean tried to probe her. Not one of the weird types of probes, just the anal one. But still, that was the type of stuff only a husband or boyfriend should do to her. The husband didn’t like it, so Darrel decided to smash the alien. When it was just a smear on the palm of his hand, he told his wife to pull her pants back up and told her also that now the alien was dead, they might as well take it’s spaceship for a little ride. It was only fair, after what it had done to her.

            You could of just told it no, she cried, you shouldn’t have kilt it.

            He smiled at her. It will be all right, he told her. Now let’s get in the ship and take off.

            That’s when the Wal-Mart guy almost came out and told them to stop digging around in the dumpster. But they were in the ship and shooting up toward the clouds before he was able to yell at them.

            That’s how their adventure started. That’s how they got their spaceship and were soon flying toward the alien battle fleet that made a giant ring around the enemy star system. On they’re way there they wanted to test how sex in zero G felt. It was okay, but the stuff floated around in the air afterward, like raindrops that wouldn’t fall to the ground but was instead just sort of hung there and splatted against whoever came near. But it was good.

            Then they were near the alien battle fleet, the ones who the bean alien had said were his enemies. The other aliens must have known they were coming, since they broke free and flew out to meet their new spaceship.

            Darrel thought that someone might be trying to hail them, but he didn’t know the language the aliens were using, so he couldn’t identify himself and let them know he came in peace.

            So the alien ship opened fire, and Darrel had to swerve to the side. It happened really quick, so he realized their ship could move really quick, and so it made invasive maneuvering easy. They dodged anything the aliens threw at them, and then they made it past the ring and into the solar system.

            Where should we go now that we made it to the alien’s home? Sharon asked.

            He put his arm around her in a characteristic display of the love he had for her. “Anywhere you want, baby,” he said. The sky is the limit. This whole galaxy is ours, now that we have this ship.

            And they flew from one star to another, having a lot of adventures that I’m going to write about in the sequal to this opening story. I’ve got a lot planned, so you’ll want to stay tuned and look out for more stories in the future. Maybe even a novel. I’m working on one soon, so I’ll let you know. I should have an exclusive blog up pretty quick, so you can tell how far I’ve got left to write on each story and novel. I’ll put in the link when its ready.

 Copyright 2012 by Scott Reeves

Very early short story - Mickey and the Thing Under His Bed

This is a really short story that I haven't published anywhere else before today. I wrote it in 1985, when I was 17.

MICKEY AND THE THING UNDER HIS BED

“Mom! Dad!” Mickey Charles sat up in his bed screaming. He clutched his covers close about him. “Come quick! There’s a thing under my bed!”

His bedroom door flew open and his parents came rushing in.

“Hush!” yelled his father. “Quiet down!”

Mickey shut up, but he didn’t stop shaking. He was scared to death.

“Now what’s all this about, young man?” his dad asked. He wasn’t too happy about being awakened in the middle of the night.

“Th-th-th-there’s something under my bed! It’s huge and scaly and smelly, and it has horns—”

“Oh come on, Mickey,” his father interrupted his frightened son.

“You’re thirteen years old, and that’s entirely too old for you to still believe in things under your bed! Now go to sleep!” Dad stalked out the door.

Mickey gave his morn a pleading look. “Honest, Mom. There’s something under there!”

Mom bent over and peered beneath the bed. “Well it’s gone now.”

Mickey got out of bed and looked for himself.

“But....”

His Mom got up and walked to the door. “Go back to sleep now, Mickey. It’s all right, you’re safe. Goodnight.”

She was out the door.

“But...” Mickey repeated.

There had been something there just minutes ago. It had laughed at him in a deep, rumbling voice. Then it had screamed foul words at him, its fetid breath oozing over him, making his skin crawl. It had swiped its claws at him. That’s when he had begun screaming. The thing had retreated back beneath his bed. Mickey slowly climbed back under the covers. He shivered, though not from the cold in the room. Some supernatural terror lurked under his bed.

It was out to get him. But no one believed him.

He didn’t sleep a wink the rest of that long, unusually cold night.

The next morning, his brothers and sisters laughed at him when they heard of last night’s incident. Mickey sniffed. No one believed him! He was beset by a monster from Hell, and no one would help him!

That night, Mickey once again lay in his bed. But he wasn’t asleep.

It was nearly midnight. That was when the creature had awakened him last night.

He burrowed deeper into the safety of his covers.

Suddenly a breeze was blowing through the room, bringing a deep chill and an unholy stench with it. Mickey pulled the covers over his head.

Now a heavy breathing sounded. A sharp yank, and the blankets no longer covered Mickey. A ten-foot, reeking horror lowered over him. A twisted, fur-covered face curved horns protruding from the forehead glared down at him.

It smiled a totally evil smile.

“I’ve come for you, horse dung,” it croaked. What awful breath!

Mickey closed his eyes tight and screamed as loud as he could.

Footsteps sounded out in the hallway.

In a moment of bravery, he opened his eyes and looked around. The thing was gone. He looked over the edge of the bed and screamed when he saw a barbed tail disappearing beneath his bed.

The door opened. Mickey’s dad walked into the room.

“What is it, Mickey?”

With a trembling finger, he pointed beneath the bed.

His dad threw his hands in the air and sighed. He stared at Mickey, then turned and left.

Once again, Mickey didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

******

Mrs. Charles was really worried about her son. It didn’t seem normal for a person to have the same nightmare two nights in a row. Her husband didn’t see any reason to worry. But, she thought, that’s a man for you.

She would keep an eye on Mickey. If he had any more nightmares like the last two, she would take him to a psychiatrist.

******

For the third night in a row, Mrs. Charles was awakened by her son’s screams. She tapped her husband’s shoulder.

“Huh?” he said sleepily.

“Go check on Mickey. He’s screaming again.”

“Don’t worry about it. He’ll quiet down soon.” Mr. Charles promptly went back to sleep.

“Oh, I’ll do it myself!” She got up and donned her nightgown.

She stopped outside Mickey’s door. The screams had stopped. Maybe he had gone back to sleep. Should she disturb him? She shrugged. Better safe than sorry.

She opened the door—

And her jaw fell open in terror. She tried to scream, but could make no sound. Then she tried to run, but found herself rooted In place. All she could do was gape.

The thing sitting on Mickey’s bed grated out, “Hello Mrs. Charles,” and burped loudly. Then it got up and began advancing on her. “Now it’s your turn! I sure am hungry tonight!”

Star Trek: Leap of Faith

This is the last of my Star Trek stories, I promise. It's a story I always thought needed to be done on Star Trek: Captain Picard and crew find actual proof that God exists. I wrote this in 1997, as an entry in the Strange New Worlds contest.

Star Trek: Leap of Faith

“The Debri,” said Jean-Luc Picard, “are the ultimate skeptics.” He let his gaze wander around the briefing room table, momentarily locking eyes with each of his officers. “Throughout their recorded history they have rejected any idea or belief which has not had a basis in solid, tangible fact.”

“Indeed,” Data said, “since they are so unwilling to accept anything without a great deal of physical evidence, it took them a relatively long time to reach their present level of technology.”

Picard nodded. “The Debri's notorious skepticism smothers imagination and intuition, which are often a key ingredient for the advancement of science.”

“They used to tell a joke about them back in the Academy,” Geordi said, smiling at the memory. “About how God shows up one day on Debri, and they ask him for his credentials. They--”

The intercom interrupted Geordi. “Bridge to Captain Picard.”

“Picard here.”

“Sir, you wanted to be informed when the runabout had docked.”

“Thank you, lieutenant. Please have the passengers escorted to the briefing room.”

“They're already enroute, sir.”

 “Very good. Picard out.” The Captain looked at Geordi. “You know, it's funny that you should mention God, because...” he paused to look around at the faces of his officers. “...The Debri have shrugged off their atheism and are suddenly very interested in Him.”

He paused again to let the import of that sink in. The Debri wouldn't be interested in any sort of god without good reason. They made the cold and analytical Vulcans seem like religious fanatics.

The door chime cut into the silence. “Ah, our guests,” Picard said. He rose and motioned for the others to do the same.

The doors swished open and a security guard entered the room, followed by a tall man with greying hair, dressed in a white robe with a large crucifix around his neck. Behind him came another man, shorter, wearing a gray business suit with a computer terminal wrapped around his wrist.

Picard nodded at the guard, who turned and left. Then, to his crew: “May I present His Eminence, Pope John Paul XIII. Welcome aboard, sir.” Picard stepped forward and shook the man's hand.

The Pope indicated the man behind him. “My secretary, Mr. Dengus.”

The Pope and his secretary seated themselves, introductions were made and pleasantries exchanged. Then Picard said, “As we were the nearest ship to the Bible Belt, we've been ordered to ferry His Holiness to Debri. They wish to learn all about Earth religions. Starfleet sees this as an excellent opportunity to reopen negotiations to get them into the Federation.”

“They would be a great boon to the Federation,” Worf said. “They are strategically important, and it is rumored they have technology hundreds of years ahead of ours. If they choose to join, we would have access to it.”

The Pope sighed heavily. He looked from Worf to Picard. “I hope that's not all you hope to gain from the Debri.” He leaned forward, looked intently at each officer. “Don't you see? They've found proof of the existence of God! Everything pales beside that, and nothing, nothing! else matters.”

Worf stood in the corridor outside the briefing room, watching as Picard led the Pope and his aide away to the guest quarters. “A remarkable man,” Worf said to Geordi.

Geordi grunted noncommittally. “Certainly an interesting bit of history.”

“You do not believe in the god of your people?”

Geordi shrugged. “Not many people do, Worf. There's not much need or room for God today.”

They began walking toward a nearby turbolift.

Geordi looked sidelong at Worf. “Do you believe in God, Worf?”

“My parents were very religious, and several missionaries visited when I was a child. While I do not believe in the human God, I greatly admire the strength and courage of your religious leaders. They are great warriors.”

Geordi laughed. “Warriors?!”

“Yes. Using no weapons, armed with nothing more than the strength of their beliefs, for over two thousand years they have subjugated countless billions into their religion. Very impressive.”

They arrived at the turbolift. The doors swished open and they stepped inside. “Well, their power is fading rapidly,” Geordi said. “Christianity's breathing its last breath.”

“Then the Debri find, if it proves to be legitimate, is very fortunate indeed. Deck One.”

The doors slid shut behind Captain Picard. Georges Popolos, aka Pope John Paul XIII, surveyed his quarters. Very luxurious. He went to the bathroom sink and ran his hands under the water, splashed some on his face. He hadn't had time to shave this morning, he'd been so busy preparing for this trip.

This godsend of a trip.

He went to the window and looked out at the stars. His quarters faced the rear of the ship. Receding in the distance was a small yellow star that grew smaller with each second. Somewhere at its waist, invisible from this far out, orbited three small planets. The system was known as the Bible Belt. It had been the home of Georges Popolos for the past three decades.

The last stand of Christianity. Over the centuries, believers had gravitated to this place, driven out of all the other systems by a lack of interest and, in many cases, outright ridicule. The millions of faithful followers had come to the Bible Belt to be among those who shared their beliefs. And they'd pretty much turned their backs on the rest of the Federation.

But that was about to change. At its sunset, Christianity had been granted a reprieve. A revival was coming, a revival that would sweep the known Galaxy.

He watched the star until it had grown to a point indistinguishable among the vast ocean of stars. He then turned to the communications panel.

“Computer,” he said. “Open a secured channel. Scramble the message and transmit to Listening Post 53.”

After he'd recorded the message, it went out to the Listening Post along the Neutral Zone, where it was relayed to a waiting ship.

Picard sat in his quarters, scanning the latest news on his PADD. One story in particular caught his eye:

(FPN) Although it's been five weeks, Federation Standard, since the Debri revelation of “definitive proof of the existence of a Supreme Being,” little or no solid information has been offered. The “proof” is in the form of second-hand reports of people who have actually been to Debri and examined the artifacts for themselves. These visitors have come from all across the Federation and the non-aligned worlds: Klingons, Vulcans, Ferengi, Bajorans--even a few Gorn. Since all attempts to photograph or remove the artifacts have been unsuccessful, we must rely on the word of those leaving the small moonlet where the ancient cavern was discovered. And the word is always the same, summed up here by a Vulcan: “Go and witness it for yourself. I will not describe any of it for you. Once you see, you will know why. Spread the word: God exists.” And the word is spreading, like wildfire. The obvious question is, has this reporter seen the artifacts? Can you describe them? And the answer is: I have indeed been to Debri, and the artifacts are....well, go see for yourself. The Debri are anxiously awaiting the arrival of the Pope (leader of Earth's Catholic church) whom they have invited to Debri in the hopes of gaining insight from the foremost expert on God. He has come out of his self-imposed exile and is enroute...

Picard turned off the PADD and rubbed his eyes. He went to the window and stared out at the onrushing, warp-smeared stars.

Mr. Dengus stopped outside the Pope's room. The door opened after three rings, and the Pope emerged carrying his briefcase.

“Good morning, sir,” Mr. Dengus said.

“Ah, good morning, old friend. Come to give me a proper send off, eh?”

Mr. Dengus was taken aback by the Pope's good cheer. Such a solemn day shouldn't be taken lightly. But he suspected it was just for show. He knew Georges Popolos too well. “We're almost to Debri, sir. Your runabout is waiting.”

They walked in silence to the shuttle bay. As the runabout door swung open, the Pope turned to his secretary. He reached out and placed a hand on Mr. Dengus shoulder. “Phineas, I....”

Mr. Dengus shifted uncomfortably. “Georges, there has to be another way.”

The Pope shook his head. “We've been over this, and we've been over it. This has to be done.”

Mr. Dengus sighed, then nodded.

The Pope sat down his briefcase and removed the crucifix from around his neck. He held it out to Mr. Dengus. “Thanks for everything, old friend.”

Mr. Dengus hesitated a moment, then took the crucifix, placed it around his own neck.

The Pope smiled and picked up his briefcase. “Goodbye, Phineas.” He turned and entered the runabout. “Have faith,” he called over his shoulder.

The runabout door shut with a hiss.

“Godspeed, sir,” said Mr. Dengus.

Debri swam up out of the depths of space, a bluish-white globe slightly larger than Earth. Picard watched it growing on the forward viewscreen. He noted with some chagrin the presence of three Klingon battle cruisers, two Cardassians and one Ferengi: others who were here to entice the Debri to ally themselves with their respective stellar organizations.

“Looks like we've got some competition,” said Riker.

“The Federation does have the upper hand, however,” Picard said. “The Pope was invited by the Debri. But their religious leaders,” Picard pointed at the ships on the viewscreen, “had to ask permission to come.”

“Score one for our side,” Riker looked up at Worf. “Sorry, Worf.”

Worf growled.

“Shuttle bay to bridge. Captain, the Pope's shuttle is ready to leave for the moonlet.”

Picard motioned to Data. “Clear him for launch, commander.”

Data punched a few buttons. “Shuttle cleared, and....the shuttle is away, sir.”

Picard stood. “Well, it's time I prepared for the meeting with Prime Minister Zharak.”

Down between the barren crags of the moonlet, toward a small landing field dotted with ships. In through an airlock and down a confusing maze of tunnels.

The Pope trudged purposefully through the dimly lit, roughly carved tunnel. His passage stirred up dirt, adding to the fine particles already drifting in the stale air. He fought the urge to choke every time he drew breath. He might as well not have been wearing the filter. He was acutely conscious of the miles of rock hanging over his head, threatening to come crushing in on him at any moment.

The Pope did not enjoy being underground. He never had and he never would. He didn't understand how these miners could tolerate working here day after day.

He glanced at the miner walking next to him, matching his swift pace admirably. The Pope nodded and smiled to give the impression that he'd been listening to the Mine Head's words. Which of course he hadn't. Shortly after his arrival, he'd concluded that Stulk, the Mine Head, had nothing important to say.

“Here. See? Here's a fine vein of arconite.” The MH pointed at the rocky wall. A glittering white streak cut neatly through the wall, disappearing down the tunnel ahead of them. “And up there, on the ceiling. These are the two veins we were following when we found it.”

The Pope's attention turned fully upon Stulk at the mention of it. He knew which it the man meant. It was the reason the Pope had come to this remote planetoid, descended into its bowels, fighting his claustrophobia the entire way.

“We are almost there, then?” the Pope asked anxiously.

Stulk nodded, and his expression brightened. This was the first complete sentence the Pope had uttered since they'd began their descent. “Yes. Two more bends of the tunnel and we're there.”

“Very good. Is it...is it as incredible as I've heard?”

“Yes,” the MH said. “I believe it is, sir. In my opinion, once word of this discovery gets out, our world will never be the same.”

They continued on in silence, Stulk no longer babbling incessantly. The tunnel forked once, and they passed several miners going in the opposite direction. The miners nodded to Stulk, then nodded respectfully to the Pope before continuing on. Georges wondered if they knew who he was; they undoubtedly knew he was important, since he was being given a personal tour by the Mine Head, while the all other alien tourists and researchers had to fend for themselves.

The tunnel they were following turned once, twice, and then abruptly opened into an enormous cavern.

The lights strapped to their shoulders suddenly winked out. At the same time the computer the Pope wore on his wrist went dead.

The Pope was unable to prevent a momentary burst of panic. His heart throbbed wildly for several long seconds before he realized he wasn't immersed in darkness. This far down in the planetoid, in these recently excavated tunnels, lights had not yet been strung. Yet a wan yellow glow bathed the cavern and everything, everyone, in it. The Pope could not tell where the light came from; it seemed to diffuse from the very air itself.

The Pope looked about in amazement. He ignored the workers and tourists scattered around the cavern. Silence rang in his ears as he gaped in wonder at the objects he'd read about in the reports. Words didn't do them justice.

Words and patterns, strange pictures and flowing script, were scrawled all over the walls of the enormous cavern. Many of the writings were carved into the rock with phaser-fine smoothness. And strange statues were scattered all across the cavern, seemingly placed with great care on the level, polished floor. He recognized a few of the statues, a few of the symbols on the walls. They were images of events from the ancient, as well as the recent, histories of several worlds.

But the statue at the center of the cavern, dominating the room, towering over everything else.... the import of that statue, its meaning, could not be mistaken or denied.

The MH, apparently deciding the Pope had had enough time to bask in the wonder of the place, scurried to his side. “The writing on the base of that statue?” Stulk said, pointing. “Klingonese. Over there? Romulan.”

The Pope walked slowly around the cavern, followed closely by Stulk. The scientists who'd been studying the artifacts stood back respectfully, bowing at the Pope as he passed.

“Electrical fields don't function in here,” the MH continued. “That's why the lights and your computer went out when you entered.”

The Pope had read all this in the reports, but hearing it again, looking at these artifacts, he felt as if he were learning it for the first time.

“Computers, transporters, tricorders,” Stulk said, “none of it works in this cavern. They,” he indicated the scientists standing in the background, “can't use conventional means to study the things in here. They've had to use chemical and other obsolete methods to determine the age of things.”

The Pope ran his hands across the smooth white stone of one object. “And their age is?” he breathed heavily, tensely. He already knew, but....

“It's off the scale. Conservative tests say everything in here is 20 billion years old. At least. Probably, I'm told, this cavern and these objects were here when the universe came into being.”

The Pope shook his head. “That's not possible.”

“Of course it's not,” the MH laughed. He continued, “The rock immediately outside the cavern? The surrounding rock is only a few million years old, but the rock adjacent to the cavern is 20 billion. And it's the same rock!”

They'd come full circle now. The MH led the Pope out of the cavern. His shoulder lights and wrist computer flickered back to life. The MH pointed out a few angular markings carved into the rock near the cavern entrance. “This writing is Klingonese. And it's written in a dialect that has only been in use for three hundred or so years. We only excavated these tunnels and this cavern last month. Until then, no one, especially Klingons, had ever dug tunnels here.” He paused momentarily, then continued. “Nothing can be removed from the cavern either. They cut one of the statues loose, to try to bring it back to Debri, or at least bring it to a spot outside the cavern where the tricorders would work. But something blocked it when they tried to take it out. It's like the artifacts hit a forcefield, only nothing is there. The artifacts simply resist being taken from the cavern.”

The Pope walked back into the cavern, feeling as though he were stumbling about in a stupor.

“The light?” Stulk continued. The Pope absently wondered if the man ever shut up. We can't determine the source of the light. It's just there, part of the air, it seems.”

The Pope walked to the center of the room, staring up at the towering central statue with his hands on his hips. One of the Debri scientists finally came over and politely but insistently sent Stulk back to his duties in the upper mines.

“Sir?” the scientist asked. “Sir, there are a few things we'd like to discuss with you.” Getting no response, he repeated, “Sir?”

But the Pope could only stare thoughtfully, wonderingly, up at the artifact. Finally he sighed, “Oh, God.....”

Several hours later, he left the cavern more certain of his path than ever. He went topside and waited in his runabout as most of the ships around him lifted off. Waited until a good number of the tourists had gotten far enough away.

Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small handheld device. He depressed a button. A microburst signal leapt outward.

A ship 30 light-seconds away powered up its engines.

Picard materialized on the Enterprise and left the transporter room, headed for the bridge.

The negotiations had gone well. For the last several years, the Debri had been leaning toward an alliance with the Romulans. Though they hadn't yet, Starfleet felt it was only a matter of time. But that had changed. Picard had put forth Starfleet's offer of citizenship, and the Debri had expressed interest. It would be a great advantage to have the Debri in the Federation, but previous offers had been immediately rejected. Their about-face was amazing.

The turbolift doors opened and Picard stepped onto the bridge.

“Data, take us out to the moonlet.”

“Yes sir.”

Now, with the negotiations out of the way, Picard would finally get to see the artifacts that had sparked all the changes in the Debri. He was looking forward to it, not just as an armchair archeologist, but as a curious agnostic as well.

He felt the nearly-imperceptible forward push as the impulse engines flared to life.

“Captain,” Worf said suddenly. “Spatial disturbance, two hundred kilometers from the moonlet.”

Picard stood. “Onscreen, maximum magnification.”

The forward viewscreen wavered, and the far-off moonlet leapt into view. Numerous small ships orbited the cratered planetoid, like moths around a flame Nearby, the background stars shimmered as a distortion moved toward it.

“A ship about to decloak, sir,” Worf reported.

“Identity,” Picard asked.

But Worf's reply was unnecessary, for seconds later a Romulan warbird phased into view, swooping toward the planetoid.

“Data, get us out there, quickly!”

“Her disruptors are powered up, sir,” Worf barked. “Firing.”

Thick beams of light leapt toward the moonlet, followed by a volley of photon torpedoes.

“Raise shields,” Picard ordered. “Data, ETA to moonlet?”

“Five minutes, sir.”

Picard gritted his teeth, watching helplessly as the Romulan disruptors hit the moonlet, throwing up geysers of rock. Seconds later the torpedoes impacted. Great fractures spread across the surface, and then the moonlet exploded. A shower of debris hurtled outward, striking the orbiting ships. Those that survived the initial pounding were destroyed microseconds later by the shockwave which spread into space.

The warbird sped through the debris, rushing toward Debri and the Enterprise.

“Incoming signal, sir.”

Worf piped the transmission onto general audio. “The Romulan Empire formally forbids a Debri alliance with anyone other than the Empire.”

The transmission ended.

The Romulan warbird changed course to go around the Enterprise.

“Keep us between that ship and Debri, Data. Worf, lock phasers and torpedoes. Forward shields at maximum.”

Both officers moved to comply. “Hailing frequencies.”

Picard paused a moment, then: “Romulan warbird, cease your attack. Do not approach Debri.”

“They're locking onto us,” Worf reported.

“Firing on us, or further attacks on the Debri, will be considered an act of war,” Picard said. “Cease your attack!”

“They're firing!” The disruptor blast punched across space, going wide, barely missing the Enterprise.

“Return fire, Worf.”

Worf did so. Miraculously, the first shot destroyed the warbird. The blinding flash filled the bridge for several seconds. Finally, the viewscreen showed only a dense field of stars and a drifting cloud of debris that had been the moonlet.

Picard and Riker turned to look at Worf. “That was too easy,” Riker said.

“Call Mr. Dengus to the bridge,” Picard said. “I'm afraid we have some bad news for him.” He turned back to the viewscreen. Seven hundred innocent people had just been murdered. Including the Pope.

And once again, it seemed, the universe was without proof of God's existence.

Five days later the Enterprise came out of warp at the edge of the Bible Belt.

Captain Picard sat in his Ready Room, looking through the day's reports on his terminal. The door chimed. “Come.”

The door opened and Mr. Dengus stepped into the room. He stopped in front of Picard's desk.

Picard looked up. “We'll be arriving at your planet within the hour, Mr. Dengus.”

“Very good.”

“And Starfleet has granted your request that we take His Eminence's body back to Earth, to be buried in his home town.”

“That was his wish.”

“Also, the Romulan Empire has issued an official statement that the warbird at Debri was renegade, acting on its own.” Picard studied Mr. Dengus intently, apparently watching for a reaction.

“Of course,” Mr. Dengus said. “Standard procedure in the game of espionage, so I understand.”

Picard nodded. “We were incredibly lucky in destroying the warbird. Her shields weren't even raised. Almost a suicide attack, don't you think?”

 Mr. Dengus shrugged, and nothing further was said for several long moments. Then: “Captain, thank you for

 your assistance these past few weeks. Things would not have gone so swiftly without the aid of you and your ship.”

“I was just following orders.” There was a little irritation in his tone.

“Is something wrong, Captain?”

Picard turned off his terminal and leaned back in his chair. “I've been thinking over what happened at Debri.”

“Yes?”

“I noticed in ship's records that His Eminence sent a brief, scrambled transmission to a Listening Post along the Neutral Zone, immediately after your arrival onboard.”

“That's possible. His brother captains a trading ship that runs supplies to the outposts along the border. They hadn't spoken in several months. Its a matter of record.”

“Yes. One of the outposts reports that a Romulan warbird on patrol near that Listening Post left the area, shortly after the Pope made his transmission.”

Mr. Dengus shrugged. “Coincidence.”

“Perhaps. It's also a matter of record that several persons directly under the Pope have made numerous visits to the Empire, over the past decade.”

Mr. Dengus nodded. “Yes, we've managed to convert a small number of Romulans. And others in the Empire are very interested in Catholicism, and Christianity in general. We're quite proud of that.”

They stared at one another in silence for a short time.

Then: “Do you have an accusation to make, Captain?”

“Mr. Dengus, if I had an ounce of solid evidence that you and the Pope had conspired with the Romulans, I would have thrown you in the brig as an accomplice in murder days ago....But I have nothing, other than suspicion. I can't even imagine a motive.” He sighed and stood. Went to his window and looked out at the stars, arms folded behind his back.

Mr. Dengus turned to leave. At the doorway he hesitated, then turned back to Picard. “Captain, have you ever wondered why, in all your travels, in all the explorations of the Federation, we've come across countless stories on countless worlds, of a Supreme Being, every one of whom had a corporeal Christ-figure at some time in history, but there has never been any solid proof? Nothing to say that here, definitely, is concrete proof that God exists? No fingerprints.”

Picard turned to face Mr. Dengus.

“You can trek through the stars for a million years and you'll never find such proof. And do you know why? It's because God can't be found in that way. He won't allow it.”

“What of the artifacts the Debri found?” Picard asked.

Mr. Dengus smiled. “The artifacts never mattered. In time, they may have been proven false. But now, now, when Christianity is dying, the Debri have emerged to save it. The Galaxy's legendary skeptics have been transformed, as have all the people who managed to see the things in that cavern, before its destruction. Their miraculous transformation will be a testimony to God, and word will spread. Interest in Christianity will flare like never before. And more importantly to you and Starfleet, Captain: after the attack, the Debri will be more likely to ally with the Federation rather than the Romulans. Everyone wins.”

“But the Debran artifacts might have been validated, your case strengthened–”

“But they might not have. God doesn't need proof, Captain! The leap of faith, in the absence of physical proof, is the best proof there is. That is what God left at Debri, not the artifacts.”

He turned and left. Picard faced his window and the stars once again.

Star Trek Voyager: Phantoms of the Mind

More Star Trek fan fiction, this one based on my non-Star Trek short story Phantoms of the Mind, from my short story collection of the same title. I wrote the original short back in 1988 and this Star Trek version in 1998.

 

Star Trek Voyager:

Phantoms of the Mind

Harry Kim crawled through the bowels of Voyager.

The Jeffries Tube clutched him like a fist. He pulled himself forward inch by inch. Sweat covered his body and soaked his uniform. The toolkit he pushed ahead of himself scraped harshly on the deckplates.

The voice of B’Elanna Torres suddenly filled the crawlspace. “You there yet, Harry?”

“Just about,” Harry said pantingly. “I think the next thing we need to work on is getting some air conditioning in here.”

He crawled up to the hatch he sought and paused to wipe his brow. Then he released the clamps and opened the hatch. “Okay, B’Elanna,” he called out as he opened the tool kit. “I'm there.”

In Engineering, Torres stood at the console, studying readouts. In front of her, the intermix column was quiescent—the warp drive had been shut off.“Good,” she said to Harry. “Let's hope this works. That cracked conduit's been out of commission for too long.”

Harry reached into the open hatch and ran a plaser over the conduit. Sealant jetted into the large crack. “Almost got it, B’Elanna.”

He finished up. The beam cut off and he pulled the plaser from the hole, setting it on the deck. He squatted back against the tube wall, sweating profusely.“That should do it.” He reached back into the hole and stroked the newly-sealed crack, testing it. Pulled a tricorder from his belt and held it toward the conduit. “Ready whenever you are, B’Elanna.”

Torres walked to another instrument panel and began pressing buttons. “Okay Harry. I'll start with a flow rate of 5%.”

The intermix column began to slowly pulse.

Harry watched his tricorder. “Steady so far. Negligible stress on the conduit.”

Torres looked up briefly at the intermix column, then looked back to her panel, pushing more buttons. “Increasing flow to 25%.”

The intermix column pulsed more rapidly.

“Still green,” said Harry.

“Great. 50%.”

“Looking good.”

“I'm taking it to 75%.”

Suddenly the conduit ruptured. Neon green liquid spurted out and doused Harry. He lurched back against the wall and rolled to the middle of the tunnel, screaming and writhing in agony. Green liquid continued shooting from the conduit.

“Harry?” Kim's screams leapt from the intercom. “Harry!” As Kim's screams echoed in her ears, Torres feverishly punched buttons, shutting off the intermix flow. She looked away from the intermix column and hit her communicator, cutting off Kim's screams. “Sickbay! Medical emergency! Computer! Lock onto Ensign Kim and beam him directly to sickbay!” She slammed her hand angrily against the control panel.

She turned and ran toward sickbay.

Torres paced the floor nervously, near the door. Nearby, Harry lay on a diagnostic bed. The Doctor was working on him with a protoplaser.

Janeway entered, followed closely by Tom Paris. They stopped beside Torres and watched the Doctor's ministrations.

“How is he?” Janeway asked.

Torres opened her mouth to reply, but the Doctor interrupted her as he joined them. “Allow me to answer that, Captain. I'm afraid the prognosis is not good.”

“Let's hear it.”

“Ensign Kim suffered extensive plasma burns. However, I was able to adequately repair his skin.”

“But?”

The Doctor looked back at Harry. “He absorbed a lethal dosage of radiation. Microcellular therapy was unsuccessful...”

Paris interrupted. “How long, Doc?”

“I'm afraid Ensign Kim has only three days to live, at the most.”

They all turned and looked at Harry. He raised his head weakly, returning their stares.“Captain...”

Paris put on a lighthearted face and strolled over to Harry's bedside. His skin was pink and shiny. “Hey, Harry,” Paris said gently, “if you wanted a vacation, there are easier ways to go about it.”

Harry managed a weak smile.

Janeway put a comforting hand on Kim's shoulder.

“Captain, I'm....” His eyes closed and his head slowly relaxed back onto the bed.

The others looked to the Doctor, who scanned Harry with a tricorder. “Don't worry, he is merely unconscious. Sleeping.

“Doctor,” Janeway said, “are you absolutelycertain there's nothing you can do?”

“Captain, I assure you, I've--”

Janeway shook her head and waved him into silence. She rubbed the bridge of her nose and massaged her eyes for a moment, looking troubled. When she'd collected herself she turned to Torres. “How soon will you have the enginesback on line?”

“I've got a crew decontaminating the Jeffrey's tube now. When that's done....”

Janeway and Torres turned and left Sickbay, still discussing the matter.

Paris looked down at the sleeping Harry, looked briefly at the Doctor, then followed the other two. He walked a few feet down the corridor, then stopped and sank against the wall, his eyes wet.

A long, dimly lit hallway. Scorched walls, blackened, pocked with holes. Debris littering the hallway. People rushed by in a frenzy of activity.

   Harry lay along the wall, eyes closed. Slowly his eyes fluttered open. He sat up and looked around, disoriented. Stood. Ran his hands over his body, checking his health. He quickly backed out of the way as the hurrying people jostled him as they passed. They paid him no attention.

A muffled explosion rocked the hallway, startling Harry. A fine powder rained down from the ceiling, settling in his hair and on his uniform. He coughed.

He looked in the direction the people were heading, then followed. He came to a bend in the hallway, and a woman hurtled from around the corner, colliding with him. They both staggered back.

“Whoa!” Harry grabbed at the woman's forearms to keep her and himself from falling.

“Sorry about that,” she said. She pulled back and studied Kim's face, ran her eyes over his uniform. “Who are you? I've never seen you before.”

“Ensign Harry Kim.” He extended his hand in greeting. She stared at him warily for several long moments before taking it. “I'm Shara,” she smiled.

Harry shuffled his feet nervously; she was very attractive. “Uh, look, this is going to sound strange, but...Where am I? I have no idea where I am.”

“You're in the Citadel. In Capital City.”

They both swayed and fought to keep their feet as another explosion rocked the hallway.

“Capital of what?” Harry asked. “What planet is this?”

Shara's smile faded and she looked at him suspiciously. “It's Galtran. What other planet is there?” Another explosion. “We'd better hurry up and get below with the otehrs. But first, I need your help. Follow me.”

She took Harry's hand and pulled him back the way he had come.

She led him into a room that was little more than a closet. Shelves lined the walls. Various objects cluttered the shelves: large packs with shoulder straps, small packs, tools, and dozens of other items.

She began grabbing packs from the shelves, throwing the straps around her neck. “Grab everything you can carry.”

Harry watched her rushing around, made no move to help. “Look, I need some answers. What am I doing here, and how did I get here? Last thing I remember is falling asleep in sickbay.”

She held a pack out toward Harry and he reluctantly put the strap around his neck. She began piling more stuff into his arms as they talked.

“Where's sickbay?” she asked.

“Back on Voyager.”

“Voyager? What's that?”

“My starship.”

Shara smirked at him. “Starship?!” She forcefully pressed an item into his arms. “Listen: you look different, and you're dressed strangely, but I'm not convinced you didn't sneak in here past the guards. You're very cute, but no amount of charm or trickery will get you a place on the rocket, so why are you bothering to try? The crew is already selected.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I'm truly sorry.” She hurried from the room.

Harry stood looking after her, his arms full.“Am I dreaming or...am I dead?”

He ran after her.

They walked as swiftly as their burdens would allow. Several far-off explosions once again rocked the hallway. They passed an jagged hole in the wall. Beyond was darkness, night. A field of tarmac stretched away toward distant lights—possibly a city. Stars speckled the sky. High in the sky hung a large white ball of light, with a tail of diffuse whiteness smeared across the sky behind it.

Harry stopped and looked out the hole, eyes fastened on the ball of light.“What's that? A meteor?”

“It's the third asteroid.” She looked sidelong at him. “You really don't know, do you?”

“I told you, I'm not from around here.”

“Four day from now it's going to impact several thousand miles to the west. The first two hit three days ago, onthe other side of the planet. Massive tidal waves, earthquakes, planet knocked off its axis--all that good stuff. Ina few days we won't be able to seethe sun anymore. Too much dust.” She sighed. “Three more on the way. Galtran's doomed.”

Bullets suddenly ricocheted off the wall near Harry. Both of them quickly ducked back inside the hallway.

“Someone out there's seen us,” she said.

She started walking, and Harry ran to catch up with her, nearly dropping his burden.

“Who was shooting at us?” he asked. “And what's making all those explosions?”

“The people out there don't want us to leave. They're angry that we're abandoning them. But we can't all fit aboard the rocket. And anyway, we won the lottery fair and square.”

Harry shook his head, perplexed. Opened his mouth the second man to Harry and Shara, “unless you want the same, I suggest you hand over your indenti-tickets.”

Harry set down the packs he carried and held out his hands. “Look, you're making a mistake.We don't—”

The first man's finger tightened on the trigger. “No, you're the one making a mistake. Now hand over--”

The second man suddenly fired at Shara. A beam of green energy spat from the gun. Without thinking Harry leapt at her, knocked her out of the way. The beam grazed him, sending waves of agony through his body. He hit the ground and rolled to his feet, wishing he had a phaser.

There was a flash of light, and a phaser suddenly appeared in Harry's outstretched hand. He looked momentarily shocked, but fired before the men could react. The phaser beam was on wide-dispersal and hit both men simultaneously. They fell to the ground.

Shara looked at the phaser in Kim's hand. “Did you kill them?”

Awash in agony, he said, “They're just stunned.”

She put her arm around him, to help support him. “Where did that weapon come from? And what is it? I've never seen its like.”

“I- I don't know,” Harry said in confusion. “I was just wishing I had a phaser, and suddenly there it was.”

She looked at the fallen men. “If they made it through the guards at the gate, there could be others.Maybe they killed the guards. We'd better get back to the Vault. Can you make it?”

Harry suddenly moaned and put his arm against the wall for support. Pressed his other hand to forehead.

“What's wrong?” asked the woman. “The beam only grazed you; you shouldn't be in this much pain.”

“Don't know...I suddenly don't feel so great. Dizzy...” His nerves felt aflame. He fell to the ground, and everything grew fuzzy...

Night shift in sickbay. The lights were dim. Harry lay on the diagnostic bed, asleep. Face sweaty, skin pale. His eyes suddenly flew open. He sat bolt upright. “Doctor!” he screamed, panic in his voice.

Tom Paris entered Sickbay and went over to Harry's bedside. “Good morning, sleepy head.Thought I'd stop in and see if you were awake yet.”

Harry groaned as he struggled to raise himself onto his elbows. He still looked pale, but not quite as pale as he had earlier.

“Is it my imagination or do you look better?”

“The doctor says I've improved slightly.”

Paris was astonished. “Really? But he said....”

“I know. Same prognosis, though. I haven't improved that much. Tom! I had an incredible dream last night...”

Paris grinned. “Oh really? Did it involve anyone we know?”

“Not that kind of dream.”

“But those are the best kind.”

Harry ignored Paris' remark.“It was strange. I was on a planet called Galtran. Asteroids were bombarding the planet, and from what I could gather, a small group of people were preparing to leave in some kindof rocket. The rest of the people weren't too happy about that and were trying to break into the refuge. Anyway, it seemed so real, until the end when we wereattacked. I wished for a phaser and -boom- I had one. That's when I started to think maybe I was dreaming, and...Except that I don't think it was a dream. I mean, it was too vivid. Like I was really there, in another place. Sound, touch, smell ...everything. It was like...” He searched for the right description. “...like being in a holodeck fantasy. Except....”

“What are you saying, Harry? You think your dream was....what?”

“I don't know. Maybe I was somehow transported to a parallel universe. Except the doctor says I haven't left sickbay. I—”

They were interrupted by Paris' communicator.

Chakotay's voice said with slight sarcasm, “Mr. Paris, sorry to trouble you, but you're a minute late.”

“Sorry, Commander. Be right there.Paris out.” He looked to Harry. “Well, duty calls. Try not to have too much fun on your day off.” He touched Kim's arm, turned and headed toward the door.

As he passed the doctor's desk, the doctor called out,

“Mr. Paris, do you have a moment?”

Paris veered into the doctor's office.“Sure, doc. What is it?”

“I thought you would be pleased to know that Mr. Kim has improved slightly. The radiation in his bodyhas lessened by 5%.”

“Yeah, but he's still...” Paris swallowed. “He's still going to die, right?”

“Yes, but--”

“Has he told you about his dream, doc?”

The Doctor nodded.

“What do you make of that? Is it possiblehe wasn't dreaming?”

“If you are suggesting, as he did, that perhaps he was transported tosomewhere else, then the answer is no.

According to the computer and the medical monitors, he never left Voyager. The monitors do, however, show intense REM activity during the time in question. In short, Mr. Paris, he had a very vivid dream, nothing more.”

Paris sighed. “Thanks, doc.”

Paris turned and left sickbay.

Harry's eyes slowly opened. He lay in one corner of a dimly lit room crowded with people. There was a low, steady hum of a dozen conversations. A child somewhere in the room was crying. The air was hot and wet, and sweat coated his body. He was naked, wrapped in a blanket. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at himself. His skin was raw red, covered with burns. And they hurt. He gritted his teeth.

He slowly became aware of Shara sitting beside him, watching him with concern. “You've been unconscious for an entire day,” she said softly. “Thanks for saving me.”

“Where are we?”

“In the Vault.” His eyes told her that meant nothing to him, so she continued, “Where we're staying until the ship is ready.” She patted the concrete wall behind her. “Heavily reinforced. They managed to break through the perimeter, but they can't get to us in here. And they can't get at the ship either.”

“They?”

“The rest of the population. Those who won't survive the bombardment. We can only save 1% of our people. The rest don't think that's fair, it should be all or none, and....it's anarchy out there.” She pointed beyond the walls. “The other nine ships left last week. We'll launch the day after tomorrow and rendezvous with them.” She looked over the people in the Vault. “We're the last group to leave. You really don't know any of this?”

“I told you I'm not from Galtran.”

“That's impossible! But I'll bite. Where are you from, then?”

He laughed weakly. How could he tell her that as far as he knew, he was dreaming? “You wouldn't believe me.”

“Try me.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but sudden pain made him moan in agony. Every inch of his skin felt on fire. It passed as quickly as it had began. If this was a dream, it was the most vivid, detailed one he'd ever had. He panted heavily. “How bad is it?” he asked her.

She was leaning over him, rubbing some sort of oil on his skin. “The man in the hall shot you with a plasma beam. It only grazed you, but these burns are consistent with a full-on blast. Doctor Ovolos doesn't know what to make of it. He says that—” Her voice choked. “I'm sorry. He says you're going to die”

“Don't worry about it,” he told her. “He's not the first doctor to tell me that recently.” He noticed a pendant hanging from her neck. He reached out and caught it in his hand. There was a picture of a man on it. “Who's this?”

She jerked the pendant out of his hand and sat back against the wall. “It's my husband. He--he looked a lot like you.” She turned away from him, trembling, beginning to cry.

Harry closed his eyes, feeling so weak. Sleep dragged him down.

While he slept, he dreamed of voices and dim faces, half-glimpsed through the haze of exhaustion. Captain Janeway conversing with the Doctor. Tom Paris calling his name. Kes holding his hand, crying softly. And the Doctor, appearing several times to scan him with a tricorder.

Then he was awakened by soft whispering voices, and the sound of a child crying.

A leathery old man with wild, uncombed gray hair and sharp eyes sat nearby, watching him.

Shara was slumped against Harry, sleeping.

“Good, you're awake,” the old man said. “I'm Ovolos. Feel like talking?”

“I hurt all over,” Harry whispered. He looked down at his naked arms. The skin was flame red, puffy with blisters.

“That's because you're dying, son,” the man said in a sardonic voice.

He looked down at Shara sleeping propped against his shoulder. Looked around the large darkened room filled with adults and children wrapped in blankets and hunkered on the floor and against the walls, likewise sleeping, or whispering to each other in the darkness. “Why am I in here?” Harry asked. “I thought only people who had been chosen to survive were in here.”

“When Shara first brought you here, the guards tried to keep you out,” Ovolos explained. “But for some reason Shara's taken a liking to you. She insisted. She can be quite stubborn, and after she told me your story I convinced those in charge that it would be in our own best interest to have you here.”

He looked at Shara. “I didn't think she believed me.”

Ovolos laughed. “She doesn't. She says you have kind eyes and you remind her of her dead husband.”

“But you believe me?”

“I can't afford not to. Maybe I'm being foolish, grasping at straws, but... You say you're from a starship?”

Harry nodded. “Voyager.”

“But how did you wind up on Galtran?”

“There was an accident,” Harry said, swallowing as a wave of nausea swept over him. “I'm...I'm in sickbay right now, dreaming this.”

Ovolos laughed. “You think you're dreaming this? Oh, if only this were a nightmare. But this starship of yours—I assume it travels among the stars?”

Harry nodded.

“And how long does it take you to travel such distances?”

“Not long, five or so light-years in a week.”

Ovolos reached into a sack beside him and pulled out a thick spiral notebook. “The work of my lifetime,” he said. Flipping through the book, he showed Harry pages filled with equations and theories. “I'm on the verge of formulating a way to travel like your Voyager, but it eludes me. Please, can you help me? Help me to save my people!”

“What good would it do?” Harry asked. His breathing was labored. “It's too late. You're leaving in a day or two.”

“But it's not too late!” Ovolos said. “Once, long ago, we ventured into space before politicians decided it wasn't worthwhile and turned away from it. There's an abandoned base on one of our moons. Our ships are to rendezvous there before heading across space to the Davlor system, where our telescopes have revealed a habitable planet. We're going to be in suspended animation for part of the 100-year journey. But if I can complete my theory, we will use the moonbase and the moon's minerals to modify our ships to travel faster than light. The journey to Davlor would take mere weeks, and we could return here to salvage what's left of Galtran and its people. Your presence here, and your knowledge, assuming you're telling the truth, gives us new options. Now, son: am I just a foolish old man grasping at straws, or can you help me?”

Harry reached out, wincing with pain as his blisters were stretched taut, and took Ovolos's notebook. He flipped through the page, giving Ovolos's ideas a cursory glance. “This is brilliant work,” he said. “You did this on your own?”

Ovolos nodded. “You recognize it, then?”

“Some of it,” Harry nodded. “Elementary warp theory, quantam mechanics.....every Federation child learns this stuff in grade school—ooh.” He closed his eyes, struggling to stay conscious as a wave of pain swept over his body.

Ovolos shook him gently. Harry opened his eyes.

“Will you help me finish it?” Ovolos asked.

Harry shook his head. “The Prime Directive prohibits....” He closed his eyes again.

“You must help me!” Ovolos shouted.

But a searing white pain rose from Harry's core and washed him away into darkness.

Harry groggily opened his eyes to find the Doctor leaning over him, scanning him with a diagnostic tricorder.

“Doctor,” Harry said through a sleep-dry, cottony mouth. “What's wrong with me? I feel so hot.”

“You have an extremely high fever, Mr. Kim,” the Doctor replied. “Oddly enough, however, your condition seems to be improving. The radiation saturating your body has reduced by another 20%. I have no explanation.”

“I—I was there again, Doc,” Harry said weakly.

“There, Mr. Kim? There where?”

“The dream. The dream that's too real to be a dream.”

“Ah, yes. Your radiation-induced delusion. Mr. Kim, I can assure you you've been here the entire night. You—” The Doctor looked down as the tricorder beeped. “Hmm. Most peculiar.”

“What is it?”

“Your neurotransmitter levels have risen a hundred fold during your sleep. That should not be.”

“So what does it mean?”

“It means, Mr. Kim, that while you were sleeping you have accumulated several hours of waking memories.”

Janeway stood in front of the Doctor's desk. “What's your explanation for his increased neurotransmitter levels?” she asked.

“I have none,” the Doctor replied. “If you're asking me whether he is being transported elsewhere while he sleeps, the answer is no. Mr. Kim has not been absent from sickbay since the accident. The only unusual events have been intense levels of REM while he's unconscious.”

Janeway creased her eyebrows. “If he's not physically leaving the ship, is it possible that during sleep he's mentally interacting with another universe?”

“That might explain the increased acetylcholine and seratonin levels, but there is no way to verify such a hypothesis.”

“But the plasma radiation saturating his body could be shifting his consciousness to another reality,” Janeway persisted.

The Doctor sighed. “If we're going to pursue this far-fetched notion, then we should also note Mr. Kim's present condition.”

Janeway turned and looked through the office window toward Kim's bed. He was sitting up, intently reading something on a PADD. The blisters on his skin were healing, and the flame-red glossiness was fading to a soft pink.

“As you can see,” the Doctor said, “he is showing remarkable improvement. When he was first brought in, I had anticipated that death would occur sometime last night.”

Janeway turned back. “And now?”

“At his current RAD level, death will come more slowly--a week or so. However, he claims that in his dreams he was shot by a plasma weapon, and each time he dreams, his dream-self becomes more sick. There is a corresponding improvement in the real Mr. Kim. In short: his dreams are healing him. My prognosis is that if things continue as they are, he will fully recover.”

“His dreams are healing him,” Janeway repeated to herself. “But are they dreams--or something more?”

Janeway left the Doctor's office and went over to Harry Kim's bedside. He looked up as she approached. “Good morning, Harry. How are you feeling?”

“Much better, Captain,” he replied. His face was pale, and he had the look of one about to vomit. “Just... constantly nauseas. Good news from the Doctor, though.”

“I heard. You can't imagine how glad I am.” She touched his arm.

“I'm not out of the woods yet, though...”

“You'll make it, Harry.” She looked down at the PADD he'd been reading. “Elementary warp theory?”

“Just refreshing my memory.”

“Harry, I talked to Mr. Paris before he went on duty. He told me about your dreams--especially last night's. Are you planning to give this scientist the knowledge to develop warp technology?”

“Their planet is dying, Captain. If you could see that asteroid looming in the night sky...it's eerie. With warp technology, they'll have a better chance of surviving. And there's a girl, Shara....I feel drawn to her, like she's my ideal woman.” He chuckled weakly. “The woman of my dreams.”

“But Harry, what about the Prime Directive?” Janeway asked. “As a Starfleet officer, you can't give these people knowledge they don't have.”

“But Ovolos is on the verge of discovering it himself. He's just gotten a few concepts wrong. He'll eventually figure it out. And anyway, Captain, it's just a dream. Tom keeps telling me that, the Doctor keeps telling me that....”

“But it might not be a dream, Harry! Your radiation poisoning might have had an unusual side effect. The evidence is very circumstantial, but....”

“Captain, it's just a dream. The Doctor is absolutely certain of that, and the sensors show that I've never once left the ship.”

“But do you believe it's a dream?” Janeway asked.

Harry shook his head. “No. I don't know how, or why, but I'm convinced it's real. But all the evidence says it's just a dream, so I guess it is.... I don't know. It's confusing.”

“So we're left with the question: if you're convinced it's real, but from an objective viewpoint it's just a dream, will you actually be violating the Prime Directive?”

Harry gripped the PADD tightly. “I can't let those people die, Captain. And you can't censor my thoughts.”

Janeway sighed. “Well, the radiation poisoning has had one very obvious side effect.”

“What's that?”

She smiled. “You never would have argued with me before.”

Harry slowly opened his eyes. Shara loomed in his vision, golden and bright. “Good morning, sleepy head.”

He screamed.

Shara pulled back. “What's wrong?”

“The pain,” he gasped, as fire seared him to the bones. It rapidly faded, finally becoming a tolerable sensation thrumming in the background. “Worse than ever... but I can handle it,” he whispered through a parched throat.

Shara looked at him with concern and sorrow. “Poor Harry Kim. I'm so sorry for you. If only...” She sat back on her heels, watching him.

Harry returned her gaze unblinkingly. Her eyes drew him in and seemed to consume him. What he found made him more content with himself than he'd ever been before, or, he suspected, would ever be again. Finally, nervous and perhaps a little frightened, he broke contact and looked down at his blistered hands.

“Doctor Ovolos told me you think this is all a dream,” she smirked. “Still think that?”

He looked back up at her. He nodded.

“Why?”

“Because women like you only exist in dreams. And they're certainly attracted to me only in dreams.”

She laughed. “You think I'm attracted to you? Well aren't you the arrogant one.”

He smiled weakly, half-heartedly. “If I'm not dreaming, how do you explain how that phaser suddenly appeared in my hands the other day? Right out of nowhere?”

“Hmmm. Good point.”

“And,” he said, “how do you explain this?” He held up his hand. A glass of ice water magically appeared in his hand. “I'm thirsty.” He drank all the water and the glass vanished. Smugly, he said, “I rest my case.”

“Your evidence is hard to deny. But I don't for a minute believe I'm just a figment of your sleeping mind. I'm real.”

“That's good, because it's more fun interacting with someone who believes she's real.” He went into a coughing fit. When it had subsided he felt a wetness on his lips. He wiped them with his hands, which came away bloody.

“I'll get Ovolos,” Sharra said. She hurriedly stood and wandered off into the crowded room.

Ovolos appeared several minutes later. He looked at the blood flecking Kim's lips, at the obvious pain on his pale face. Kneeling beside Harry, Ovolos said, “You certainly don't look any better. But I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do for you.”

“Doesn't matter,” Harry said weakly. “That's not what I wanted anyway. Get your notebook. I'm going to explain a few things to you.”

“Oh? What of your mysterious Prime Directive?” Ovolos said acerbicly. “And we're all just a dream anyway. Why help us?”

Harry gave a wince of pain in reply.

“Sorry,” Ovolos said, softening. “I'll take any help I can get. And by the looks of you we don't have much time.” He reached behind him and retrieved the notebook from where he'd tucked it into his waistband.

Harry took it and began thumbing through it. “You're about to get a crash course in Basic Warp Theory and Technology 101. Now, where to begin....”

Harry's eyes slowly fluttered open.

The Doctor noticed, set down the protoplaser he'd been cleaning, and came to the bedside. “Mr. Kim, good morning. I—”

“Doc,” Harry interrupted. “I feel incredibly good. I mean, compared to before.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. He looked wonderingly at his arms and hands--the blisters were little more than dry patches of flaky skin.

“Yes, Mr. Kim. I'm happy to report that while you slept your body has miraculously thrown off most of the effects of the radiation. For the next few days you will grow fatigued very easily, but other than that I give you a 99% clean bill of health.”

“Strange. In my dream, I went from very bad to just this side of the grave,” Harry said.

“Then your dream-self has not yet perished?” asked the Doctor.

“Not quite.” Harry shrugged. “If I'm in such good shape now, mind if I run to the mess hall? I'm starving.”

“A healthy appetite is a good sign,” the Doctor said. Then he shook his head. “But no. I have a few more tests to run, and the Captain has ordered you confined to sickbay under my constant supervision until you perish. In your dreams, that is. We still aren't sure what we're dealing with here. Despite your apparent good health, it is possible that you could have a sudden relapse. I'm sure Mr. Neelix will be happy to bring the mess hall to you.”

Harry sighed. “So I'm just supposed to lay around here in bed all day? I'll go insane with boredom.”

“Fear not, Mr. Kim. I shall keep you properly stimulated. I would appreciate your input on the medical paper I'm writing.”

“Mine? On what?”

“On you, of course. Your case is definitely one for the textbooks. Once we get back to the Federation, I intend to publish it in all the journals.” The Doctor picked up a PADD. “Now, shall we begin?”

Harry sighed again.

Just as the Doctor had predicted, Harry quickly grew fatigued. Although Harry wasn't certain whether it was due to his recent ordeal or to the Doctor's incessant rambling in that monotonous nasal voice of his. Whichever it was, after several hours Harry Kim's eyes grew heavy and he drifted to sleep.

He opened his eyes to see Shara leaning over him, wiping his brow with a wet cloth. “Harry?” she was saying, shaking him gently. “Harry, we're going to move you. The ship is just about ready to launch, and Doctor Ovolos has used his influence to get you a place onboard.”

Harry's heart was hammering, and sweat rolled down his face, stinging his eyes. “I don't think so,” he rasped through a bone-dry throat. He clutched Shara's arm weakly. “I think...this is it.”

She sat back on her heels, opened her mouth as if to protest. But she merely nodded instead. “You're right. I can see it.” Her lips trembled and her eyes grew moist. “Oh Harry....”

He tried to smile. “Don't cry. I'm dying, but not really. I'm just...not going to dream of this place again. This is not the end for me, so don't be sad.”

She sniffed, trying to be strong. “I wish I could believe that.”

His sight began to grow dim. “What about the third asteroid? And Ovolos?”

“The asteroid's going to hit in a few hours, right after we launch. The other three will follow a few hours after that. And Ovolos....he's ecstatic over his....your...theories. All our scientists are drawing up plans for a warp engine. The fleet will rendezvous on the moon and build it. They say we'll be in the Davlor system and settled on the new world within two years. And it's all because of you, Harry.” Her shoulders trembled with repressed sobs. “If only you could come... I need you.”

“Now I'm absolutely certain I'm dreaming.” He felt a sudden fierce wind against his face, and the roar of crashing waves. “You hear that?” he asked. His muscles went limp, his hand lost its grip on Shara's arm and fell to the floor. He could hear her crying now, drowning out the roar.

“Goodbye, Harry Kim. I'll remember you forever, Harry, in my dreams,” she whispered.

Darkness rose up and consumed him.

Harry remained in sickbay for another day, until the Doctor was convinced that Harry wouldn't have a relapse. Upon his release he hurried to the mess hall and wolfed down a large lunch. After that he reported for duty. Captain Janeway, still concerned, reluctantly allowed him to finish that day's shift. To his chagrin, he learned that the cracked conduit that had caused his accident had already been repaired. He'd been hoping to pick up right where he'd left off.

A week passed, then two. The accident and his strange dream faded into memory. Life resumed.

One night, over a month later, a sense of unease rousted him from a deep, dreamless sleep. He sat up, the silk bedsheets slid to his waist. He felt eyes watching him from the darkness, making his skin crawl.

“Computer, lights,” he called out in a groggy panic.

The lights came on. A woman was sitting in the chair across the room. Watching him.

Shara.

“Hello, Harry.” She smiled and stood. Walked over and stood beside the bed, looking down at him. “It's me, Harry. It's Shara. And I'm dreaming.”

He looked up at her incredulously.

His door chime began beeping insistently. He looked into the other room. “Come,” he called out.

He looked back to Shara—

—but she'd vanished.

Tuvok and three security men came rushing into his bedroom, phasers drawn. Tuvok looked around the room. “Are you all right, Mr. Kim? There was an Intruder Alert, your quarters.”

Harry looked at the empty space where Shara had been standing. “I'm fine, Tuvok. But I wonder—”

He pinched himself.