Star Trek: Erin

Part 54: Start a Dream Journal

     I hadn't had a dream I remembered since before the Academy. Too little time for sleep. Work to exhaustion, pass out, get up as soon as necessary. That was the routine. It sucked, but I got used to it over the years.

     Then that dream came.

     I stood in a field, a grass-like plant coloured pitch black waving around me while twin suns beat down on the back of my neck. Touching the spot, I winced as my fingers brushed a sunburn already blooming. "What is this?" I muttered. I'd been in my quarters, lying in bed, and now here.

     Grass rustled in front of me. My eyes narrowed against the burning haze. Something dark materialized, a humanoid figure in a strange spacesuit. Elements reminded me of Starfleet, but there were additional designs and reinforcements I didn't recognize. The figure stopped, touched their temple in a reflexive movement. "Cobos," they growled.

     The voice, although muffled and distorted by the suit, was almost familiar.

     I frowned. "That's me. What is this?"

     There was a long silence. Unease grew in my stomach. Slowly, the figure's head tilted, the midnight visor reflecting my tense visage back at me.

     A slight scuffing sound was my only warning.

     The figure dropped low in the grass and rushed me. I barely got my hands up in time, which didn't help anyway. They feinted right, impossibly fast for the clunky suit, before lurching left and colliding their fist with my face.

     My head cracked back. I let out a wordless cry. Throwing myself backwards gained a couple feet of breathing room. I wiped saliva from my mouth. That was dirty. I sank into a defensive position as they surged forward again.

     I managed to match them for a couple rapid strikes before one caught me in the ribs. A wheeze escaped. I seized their arm, trying to throw them over my shoulder. They grabbed me right back, their breathing tube scraping along my arm and leaving it raw. I grinned and went for the helmet. Shouldn't have worn—They Sparta-kicked me in the gut. I flew backwards, my shoulder blades furrowing the dirt. Black grass framed my vision. There was a low, distorted chuckle. "Not quite, Cobos."

     "Oh, we're—" I broke off into coughing, barely managing to scramble to my feet. My body ached. "We're talking now? Fuck you." I paced towards the figure. They'd kicked me an absurd distance. I surveyed the horizon. Nothing but black grass. Whatever this is, I have to deal with it. No way out. My hand went to my hip, just to check. No phaser.

     "I have the key."

     I tensed. "To what?"

     "Your future."

     "What the hell does that mean?"

     The figure spread their arms at the inky sea of grass. "I'm waiting."

     I watched as their hands clenched into fists, which was the moment they leapt.

     Then I startled awake, lashing out with a knee and bashing it into the wall. My breathing came fast and my whole body was tense and aching. "What was that?" I breathed. 'I'm waiting.' My heartrate slowed gradually. Just a dream.

     I never dream. What the hell?

     As I calmed, a half-formed memory came to me. "Dreams you remember, those are the important ones."

     "Shut up, Marth, I'm not starting a dream journal."

     "Your loss."

     I went to the desk and started an audio log. Settling in the chair, I drew a deep breath. "This is my first log, but I think I—fuck." I stopped the recording and put my head in my hands. Is this going too far? Chasing dreams? What, do you think you're some sort of prophet? Do you want to be special that badly, Cobos? My hands dropped, pausing just a moment as I considered slapping myself. "Fucking hell," I muttered. "I'm pathetic."

     I got to my feet, took two steps, and dropped back into bed.