Surefoot 77: Nightmare Fuel

He still wasn't sure what to believe was real or not here... but as he held out his hand, letting the dog crawl closer to it and begin licking it with a huge, flat, rough pink tongue, he clung to the notion that this fat furry lump was definitely real.

The smoke was getting thicker. The heat was rising, and the flames approaching.

He pushed the dog away. "Go! I don't care if this is real or not! I don't want you to be hurt!"

Why?

Weynik blinked, looking to the dog... and remembering hearing that voice earlier, before he ended up here. "How can you speak? And in Roylan, too?"

The dog tilted his head quizzically. Why do you care?

"Who are you? What's going on?" Weynik coughed, struggling to catch his breath now. "Stop whatever it is you're doing!"

This animal is not of your race. It does not possess sentience. Yet you show concern for it. Why?

Weynik rested back for a moment, staring up at a ceiling that he wasn't sure any longer was real. "My capacity for caring is not limited... to members of my own race... or their levels of intelligence. All life... deserves regard and respect." He pointed to the dog. "Whatever... whatever reason you have for attacking us... this animal can't possibly have done anything to deserve being harmed."

You... are not like the others. The one who tormented this animal. The ones who took me.

Weynik looked to the dog again. "Who are you? I'm trapped in this... memory... but I must still be on the Incubus. Are you here as well? Did Hengist and his gang abduct you?"

The dog's head seemed to develop an aura, and emanating from it rose a round, mouthless, hairless head on a long neck. I was Melkotian.

Weynik blinked. Melkotian? That was the last name he had expected. First contacted over a century ago by Captain Kirk on the Enterprise, the Melkotians were powerfully telepathic, and intensely xenophobic and isolationist. After Kirk impressed them with a display of mercy despite being threatened with death from one of the Melkotians' psychic death traps, a peace treaty was established, though the Melkotians remained behind their borders, allowing very few visitors, and the Federation agreed to respect their territory and integrity.

A respect that criminals like Hengist, who somehow got hold of this Melkotian to obviously have his telepathic powers studied and exploited, never demonstrated.

"I... I am Captain Weynik of Starfleet," Weynik declared. "I can help free you. You don't need to continue this attack. Stop it."

I cannot, Captain, not in my present state. What you and those sentients around you are experiencing is a natural defence mechanism triggered by a neurogenic field being generated by my mind, an uncontrollable reflex action, trapping those affected by it in nightmares pulled from their own minds, designed to lead them inevitably to their deaths.

You need to find me, find me and free me. And you need to hurry... to save yourself... and the others...

He swallowed, tasting smoke again. This felt so, so real. He was trapped, alone-

No. Not alone. And not trapped, not really. When Kirk and his landing party had been trapped in their own scenario, they had used Vulcan mental disciplines to reject what their minds thought they were experiencing.

He was no Vulcan. But he had strength. He had willpower. He had fortitude.

He was a stubborn bastard.

He twisted, ignoring the false bulkhead pinning his leg, and focused on the dog, who was now wagging his stubby tail excitedly, as if sensing Weynik's decision, his determination.

He's not trapped. He's not disabled. Nothing can stop him. Not even himself.

The dog yapped with encouragement.

Weynik moved.

And moved again.

He helped himself back to his feet, thankful that he had two good legs, even if one of them wasn't original.

The dog sat before him, looking up expectantly.

Weynik bent down and picked him up. "Oof, you're a big-boned fellow. Bit like someone I know... but less furry and more cuddly-" He stopped as the dog began licking his face.

Then he began walking-

-Until he stopped, finding himself in a nightmare... or at least, a nightmare different to one he had personally experienced.

It was a barren, muddy landscape, filled with long, tall, wooden posts, upon which were nailed or impaled humanoids. Thousands of them, stretching out in all directions like a forest of death beneath a lavender sky necklaced with a string of tiny white moons.

Bloody Hemra, the stench was mephitic... though the dog didn't seem too bothered by it-

A bloodcurdling scream caught his attention, as Weynik turned to see the tiny form of Hengist, being dragged by tall, black-cloaked humanoid figures towards an unused post. He looked towards Weynik. "Help me, Captain! HELP!"

Despite knowing the unreality of it all, despite what the man had done already or how deserving he was of whatever grisly fate plucked from his own mind awaited him, Weynik stepped forward. "It's not real, Hengist! Fight it! Reject it! You can do it!"

The Rigelian didn't seem to hear, or if he did, didn't know what to do. Other cloaked figures turned to him now.

This had to be stopped... not just for Hengist, but for his crew, too, before they succumbed to whatever phantasms they were facing.

He turned and ran out-

-Finding himself in one of the corridors of the Incubus, and when he looked back, he saw the door to Hengist's quarters open, and Hengist still lying in there, spasming.

The neurogenic field the Melkotian was generating... approaching someone caught within it seemed to allow one to share in whatever illusion they were experiencing.

He had to end this.

*

Sasha should just drop her sword, her defiance, and let it all wash over her, and end this pain right here, right now.

Yeah.

That sounded real good to her...

So... fuck that. She never opted to make anything easy for herself anyway.

And she had been in enough actual fights to know that this was some fakakta dream or scenario or something.

She threw aside her sword, glaring defiantly at the faceless hordes surrounding her, baying and bellowing and beckoning her to continue.

She pushed past them. Dying was the last thing she was going to do...

...Suddenly she found herself in a bedroom, some adolescent's bedroom - the posters on the wall and the many products on the nearby table for fur and hoof care told her it was a Tellarite's bedroom - and she looked around, breathing in the thinner, warmer atmosphere of Tellar Prime.

The sobbing made her turn, seeing Lt Grel hiding on the floor in the corner of the room, curled up, his hooves in his face. "Grel?"

"Don't look at me!" he wailed, his voice muffled.

She drew up to him, dropping to one knee, concern suffusing her. "What's wrong? What's happened to you?"

"The Blight! It's killing me! Tearing me inside out!"

"Blight? What are you-" Then she recalled a previous talk with him, when she was still a Second Officer, and her baby sister Sreen had just been diagnosed with Neurodystraxia, and he opened up about his own family. "Grel, this isn't real! This is some sort of telepathic attack! I experienced something similar, dredged up from my own mind!"

He shook his head in denial. "No- No! It's real! It's left me hideous- dying-"

She reached up, took his wrists and drew his hooves away from his face, saw the scars and blotches across his snout and into the deep recesses of his beady eyes, and ignored them as she captured his attention. "Grel, you are not dying. But you are hideous, because you always have been, and always will be."

He blinked. "What? You mean that?"

She nodded in confirmation. "Seven Hells, Grel, I know five truly ugly people in the Universe, and you are four of them! But it's not because of any Blight, because you don't have it. You are naturally unattractive. And your pelt stinks like my armpit after a marathon."

Grel gasped, his eyes widening in hope at her use of Tellarite Banter. "Really, Sasha?"

She nodded again, smiling. "Yes. Now, get up with me and leave this behind. We have others around us, trapped in their own nightmares, who need our help."

*

In the Isochamber, Jiyajh's family was breaking in, their thirst to regain the family honour through her death almost palpable. She could smell their rage, feel the heat of their passions.

It would end, here and-

In the rear of the pack of Klingons, Klingons were falling. None of the others seemed to notice, as if driven by the exigent desire to kill Jiyajh. That in itself was noteworthy; no Klingon would just ignore an enemy attack from behind.

She sat up, and then rose up, fighting down her terror to see her family being attacked by... the ship's Counselor? The elderly Denobulan female, Vestri?

It was. She was calmly reaching out and clasping her thumb and forefingers against the necks of every Klingon she could get her hands on, and every one she touched dropped like a sack of stones.

The surviving Klingons backed away in mute wonder, as Vesri drew up to the Isochamber door, drawing aside the door as if it had never been locked, a serene expression on her face as she smiled. "Hello there, Doctor." She produced a small white device with blinking lights. "You might like this: a multiphasic wave inducer, for promoting meditation... or interfering with neurogenic fields, like the one we're currently experiencing..."

*

Maryk clung to the edge of cliff literally by her fingers. They were going numb. She was going numb.

She would die here, as she was always meant to-

A blue hand appeared from the snowy curtain above and clasped her wrist, roughly dragging her upwards, like some angel...

...Onto the floor nearest the Warp Core, where Crewman Xass knelt over her, reaching up to open her eyes wider with her fingers. "Chief! Are you okay? I was.... I was back home on Bolius, on the Battlefields of Railo, and the Undead Warriors of Lixx were after me, trying to tear into my flesh... but then there was his horrible buzzing in my head, and I found myself on the floor... along with you and everyone else-"

She smacked his hands away. "Stop groping me, you degenerate blueberry!" She shook her head, glancing around at the rest of the Engineering crew, also on the floor, stirring awake, before focusing on the Warp Core Column, which was glowing brighter, though they weren't moving, a sure sign of a static warpfield being generated. "Did you initiate that?"

"No, Chief!" Xass moved to the nearest status board. "It was triggered remotely by the Bridge!"

Maryk joined him, opening a channel. "Bridge! What's going on?"

"We were incapacitated by a neurogenic field, Chief," Sasha responded. "We determined that running a static warp field would interfere with it enough to help snap everyone out of it. But check everyone around you, in case anyone is in too deep... or has suffered injuries as a result of all this."

"Acknowledged, Bridge. Maryk out." She looked to Xass. "Well, Blueberry? You seem slightly less incompetent than I had initially thought. Check on the rest of our crew, while I run systems scans!"

The Bolian beamed. "Yes, Chief!" He had a Nickname from her!

*

Weynik let the dog walk the rest of the way down the freighter corridor, leaving him to draw his phaser as he made his way to the Vault, finding Jor-Dakk over the unconscious figure of Madison.

He rushed up to check Madison's pulse. "Jim!" He looked up at Jor-Dakk. "Did you experience some sort of waking nightmare, Lieutenant?"

"No." He tapped the side of his head. "Immune."

Weynik glanced back at Madison, having expected being this close to have joined him in whatever nightmare in which he had trapped himself, but there was nothing. He noticed a slight mark on the human's neck, and looked up again. "You stunned him?"

Jor-Dakk nodded. "Safer."

"Safer? Safer for whom?"

"Himself."

Captain...

Weynik looked up into the Vault, seeing the long black stasis chamber, rising and approaching. "I'm here..." He moved to the control panel, setting down his phaser. "I'll have you free as quickly as possible, and back to Melkot-"

No. You won't. I'm not alive.

He froze. "What? That's- That's not possible- you're communicating with me- generating a neurogenic field-"

Were I still alive, I would have dealt with my abductors... my murderers... long ago. What you're experiencing now is but a remnant of what I once was, a portion of my mind kept animated by this chamber to let them study my people's abilities and exploit them, and kept under control until your people brought me back into normal phase.

Incinerate my body, Captain, and destroy any data on me. Leave no trace that can be used and, inevitably, abused. Preserve my integrity. And my dignity. Please.

Weynik stared at the top of the chamber. It seemed so bizarre, to be listening to the thoughts of an entity that was actually deceased. It was like he was back in another nightmare.

For a moment, he was tempted not to comply. There was almost nothing known about the Melkotians' biology, their telepathic abilities. They could learn so much about this mysterious race-

That temptation faded like a dream, as he slid open the top panel of the chamber, controlling his reaction to the smell of the body, the eyes in the huge spherical head black like his own, but lacking any spirit.

Thank you, Captain...

He didn't reply as he set his phaser to Maximum, stepped back, and swept a wide crimson beam over the corpse, watching it and the surrounding inner panelling of the chamber glow and disintegrate, producing acrid smoke that rose to the ceiling. Then he aimed at the control panel of the chamber itself, destroying it and whatever database it might have had.

Weynik holstered his phaser. I'm sorry that I couldn't have been there when you were still alive. Rest in Peace. He tapped his combadge. "Weynik to Katana: Status?"

"Secure, Sir," Sasha replied. "We were temporarily incapacitated by some sort of neurogenic field, but Lt Holtzmann came up with the ingenious idea of running a static warpfield to disrupt it."

Then Weynik heard another female voice in the background. "No, no, Lieutenant Commander, I can't take any credit, I was just doing my job-"

"Shut up and accept the compliment, Holtzmann, you'll never know when you might get another. Captain, minor injuries have been reported, nothing serious... and you should know that your mother and children slept through the whole thing unaffected."

He smiled in gratitude. "Thanks, Sasha."

"Captain, I'm assuming that the neurogenic field that affected us also affected yourselves?"

His smiled dropped again. "You assume correctly, but the source of it has been... neutralised. Mr Madison was hit with a phaser beam on stun; lock onto his combadge and beam him to Sickbay, then assemble a team to pilot this ship to Salem One. Weynik out." He turned to Jor-Dakk. "Gather up the rest of our people, apprehend the crew and get them into our Brig."

"Yessir."

As Madison's unconscious form vanished in a transporter mist, Weynik frowned at the Brikari. "You know, Lieutenant, as much as I'll appreciate the brevity of the Security reports I'm sure you'll produce, I'd hate to have to wait for you to provide a comprehensive verbal assessment in a crisis, if you can only speak one word at a time."

Now the huge figure turned to him. "I'm not as laconic as one might assume, Sir. Granted, I'm not the most loquacious or ebullient of personalities, but I prefer brevity. It reinforces a sense of security and strength."

Weynik blinked; that was more words he had heard from him in one go than in the past two weeks. "Your voice is... softer than expected."

"Indeed, Sir, and I'm cognisant of how many humanoids react to pitch and tone. It's easier to keep it deep when I don't say much."

Before Weynik could respond, his combadge chirped, and Sasha reported, "Captain, a shuttle just launched from the Incubus and-"

"Get a tractor beam on it! Keep them from leaving!"

"...And as I was about to say before you interrupted, Sir, we locked a tractor beam on it. We've detected one lifeform onboard, Rigelian, and a large supply of gold-pressed latinum."

Weynik grunted. "Beam the Rigelian to the Brig, and the latinum to Cargo Bay 6. And try not to get the two mixed up."

"No promises, Sir."

At his feet, the dog yapped up questioningly.

He knelt down and stroked behind his ears. "No, you won't be going back to him again. We'll get you back to your proper owner, and make sure you end up with someone who actually cares about you."

*

"USS Katana, Captain's Log, Stardate 53236.79, Captain Weynik Recording: we are proceeding once more to Salem One, this time with the freighter Incubus accompanying us, and her crew in our Brig. I have informed the Melkotian government of the incident involving the body of one of their own, provided assurances that no biological or electronic data that might have been gathered about their race.

I had also offered to arrange for the extradition of Hengist and his crew to them to answer for their crimes, but the Melkotians declined. Federation justice will have to suffice. And after dealing with them, I for one will be happy to get them off my ship and never look at them again."

*

"Hengist."

The Rigelian turned in the bunk in his cell, sitting up casually. "Hello again, Captain. I didn't think you would accept my invitation."

Weynik stood there, feeling the eyes of his Security Chief, and the prisoners in the other cells, on him. As he stared through the invisible force field at the prisoner, his memory brought back the images of the bioreadings taken in Sickbay of the bulldog: the cuts, bruises, internal injuries, cracked ribs. His hands balled into fists. "What do you want?"

Hengist stood up, approaching the edge of the cell. "2,400 bars of Gold Pressed Latinum, in a bank on Lissepia. Contrive a means of allowing my crew and myself to escape custody, and it can all be yours."

Weynik grunted. "Another bribe? You're wasting my time and yours, and unlike yours, my time involves more than just sitting in a tiny cell waiting to get tried and moved into another tiny cell."

Hengist kept smiling. "If greed won't motivate you, Captain, how about fear? The people who hired me to deliver the Melkotian body won't be pleased to hear what you did to it."

Weynik shrugged. "Bring them on; we've plenty of cells for them, too. I didn't come here for any of that, Mister. I wanted to ask you something."

The Rigelian held out his arms invitingly. "I'm all ears."

"Why hurt the dog? I get that you were angry at your ex-wife, and that he might have caused you some small trouble on your ship... but neither of those reasons justify the level of abuse you inflicted on him-"

The rest of his words were cut off by Hengist's derisive laughter. "Oh, wow, that's rich! It's true what they say about Starfleet! You're all a bunch of naïve, idealistic, spineless children!" He drew closer, until his cell's force field began crackling in warning at his proximity, his eyes wide. "Let me tell you, Captain: the Universe is a harsh, unfair place, not bound by notions of equanimity or mercy. I learned that a long, long time ago, when the other kids would torment me for my size, kicking me around, sticking me in lockers and garbage cans, spitting on me-"

"I'm sorry to hear that," Weynik told him, with some small sincerity. "Had you grown up on Royla, with everyone our own size, you might have been better treated. But that's still no excuse for your actions.

Starfleet isn't some club of guileless hermits. We're fully aware of how terrible and hopeless the Universe can seem... and most of us, myself included, have experienced it directly. But we won't let it twist us, won't let it fuel a desire to add to that negativity; on the contrary, we strive to counter it." He paused. "Something I'd forgotten recently."