The Delta Quadrant Is the New Black

After we'd exchanged greetings and the shift change had settled, I leaned over where only she could hear me. "If you'll forgive me for saying so, Captain," I whispered, "you've looked better. Rough night?"

As I took the full force of Captain Janeway's bag-eyed glare, my gut settled uncomfortably around Neelix's latest egg substitute. I'd been hoping for a change. Ever since we'd renewed reliable contact with Starfleet, she'd arrived on the bridge each morning looking more flayed than the last. She clearly wasn't sleeping well. I didn't know if it was the bad news from home that was doing it or something more duty-related, but I wasn't sure how much longer she could endure.

Kathryn – I still call her that, to myself, in my mind, inadvisably, irrevocably – shut her eyes and rested her temple on the worn upholstery of her chair. The moment of repose lasted longer than it should have, as if she were ready to fall asleep sitting up and only an act of will and the knowledge that I was watching brought her back to consciousness. When her eyes opened, they had a sleepy look as if she were lying on her pillow, next to me in – I shut down that train of thought as quickly as I could.

"The same dream I told you about a few days ago," she said, low enough that the rest of the bridge crew couldn't hear. "Even more vivid. I feel as if I'm being held captive at a command performance of my own life."

"You're still an observer? The perspective hasn't changed?" I asked. That had been my first suggestion, that when she became aware of being in a dream, she try to take control, push the dreamscape toward a conclusion that would allow her some peace.

She shook her head and made a tired little grimace of her mouth. "Join me for a coffee?" she offered.

I nodded. She handed over the bridge to Tuvok without even looking at him and we moved to her ready room. I watched her trudge across the bridge like a sleepwalker. If the door hadn't opened automatically, I felt sure she would have walked straight into it. She went to the replicator the same way she always did, treading the path she'd worn in the carpet. All these years spending every day together and I still couldn't take my eyes off her doing the simplest things, and she did them with stunning efficiency, even half-comatose as she now was. My cup of tea was in my hands before I reached the sofa. Carefully balancing the hot vessel, I sat square in the middle where she'd be forced to sit beside me.

As Kathryn dropped onto the sofa beside me and kicked her feet onto the table, she sighed and let her head fall back. "I'm going to lose my mind if this keeps up. Every night, more intense. I wake up and feel as if I've just worked graveyard shift."

It was worrying me too. Nobody else was reporting similar problems. I wondered if this could be another alien experiment, something unknown and perhaps unknowable delving beyond the seemingly fragile shell of her high, pale forehead. I roused myself from admiring the fall of her hair to ask, "Are any of the rest of us there?"

She turned her head on the cushion without lifting it and looked at me as she reflected. "No. None of you. Sometimes I think I see something in one of the other prisoners that reminds me of one of you, but that's all it is, just a reminder. It's not you. And it's a women's prison, so of course the only men are the guards. It's really – well, if it were real, it would be terribly lonely, even with all those people around."

I nodded. "Of course."

What she said made sense. Whenever she and I were separated for any length of time, I felt not just concern for her but a gnawing loneliness, the lack of my closest friend. It was reassuring to hear that she felt the same, in some way at least. I considered for a moment. "That might be good news. If it were a premonition of some kind of punishment when we reach the Alpha quadrant, it seems likely that at least a few of the crew would be there with you."

Kathryn shook her head. "I thought about that, but it isn't a Starfleet facility. And all the prisoners are human. At first I went around peeking at people's ears and thinking intense thoughts, trying to identify a Vulcan or a Betazoid, some species that might pass for human. Nothing. Of course, the people in the dream don't interact with me, so it's hard to be sure, but I believe they really are all human. It's bizarre. I can't recall the last public place where I was surrounded by only other humans, even on Earth. Why would they segregate us that way?"

I sipped my tea as I thought this over. "I've been thinking that it could be Q, or some other alien. It wouldn't be the first time someone's tried to get inside your head."

She rested her cup on her leg and sighed. "It's not narcissistic enough for Q. He needs us to know when he's involved. Also, there's too much dirt and ugliness. The women are – " she paused and looked down as an expression I didn't like at all passed across her exhausted face. "They're so cruel to each other, Chakotay. Q likes storybook places, or just emptiness. These dreams aren't his style."

My eyebrows were doing something I couldn't control, probably showing her how worried I really was when I had intended to keep that to myself. "Dirt and ugliness, you say?" I didn't like to think of her spending her dreamtime in a place even more depressing than the Delta quadrant could be on an average day. She didn't need that.

Kathry opened her eyes a little wider to look at me. I smiled in spite of myself and leaned slightly toward her. "I like to think I'm tough," she said in a confiding tone. "I passed Starfleet survival training with flying colors. But this – there's no privacy, only the most basic needs are covered, and the other inmates…." She lowered her eyes. "Well, they can get violent."

I shifted to keep my eyes on her face as she turned it away from me, as if embarrassed by the inhabitants of her own dream life. This was a disturbing revelation, especially in light of my speculation about alien mind interference. "Violent how?"

She lifted her eyes again. Now that I'd leaned in – and I had no intention of leaning out unless she pushed me away – I could see that the dark circles were more pronounced than yesterday. "There's another inmate, a big woman. Dark. I had the sense that I was afraid of her from the moment she appeared in the dream. We had some sort of history that I couldn't recall, and then there was a sort of flashback of her gang attacking me."

I recoiled slightly without meaning to. "How could they attack you if they don't interact with you?"

Janeway rested her empty cup beside her feet on the low table. "That's what I haven't told you about. I don't understand it myself. I'm there and I'm not there. It's as if I'm physically present, but I'm watching an older version of myself who speaks differently."

"She speaks differently? How can you be sure it's you?"

Janeway waved her hand in dismissal of the idea. "Oh, it's me. She's aged, but she has the same gestures, the same expressions, the same voice. I recognize myself every second. I've wondered a few times if it's some sort of espionage assignment, but I can't fathom what the mission would be. These aren't military prisoners or even people who seem particularly intelligent. They appear to be common criminals. I am a common criminal."

Her forehead clenched and I shifted again to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Kathryn, this doesn't sound like a dream. At least not any dream I've ever had. Dreams are impressionistic, inconsistent. This is … it's as if you're entering a different reality."

"Whatever it is, I wish I could make it stop."

I saw the effort in her face as she hauled herself to her feet, accepting the lift from my hand when normally she would have waved me off with one of those trademark eye rolls. "Back to the bridge," she said. "If I stay in here I really will fall asleep."

To be continued ….

Author's Note: I know, it's shameless. But it was fun. Feedback very welcome.