The image of Monnika remained with her after the dream passed. She felt her heart pounding in her chest, her eyes opened, and for a moment, she wasn't even certain that she was awake.
Monnika's eyes; unblinking, distant, lifeless, continued to stare at Astronema, even as she became aware of the discrepancy of her surroundings.
Monnika had no right to be here.
This was not the barren, scorching hot surface of the long-forgotten and long-occupied Barthos XVIII; but, instead, the comfortably cool and utilitarian quarters of Astronema's brother, aboard his ship.
But the accusing eyes continued to stare at her, and she let out a frightened gasp and sat up quickly.
The residual physical effects of interrupted REM sleep made it difficult to focus her eyes, and she blinked rapidly to try to clear her vision. The details of the room came to her in meaningless little flashes, and it was only after several blinks and a few frantic rubs of her eyes that she realized she was not looking at Monnika at all.
She was looking at herself.
A framed photograph of herself from her childhood. There was one next to it; and for a moment, her blood ran cold as her still half-dreaming mind saw the face of Harke in the frame.
"Oh!" she half-screamed, half moaned, and she snapped her eyes shut and opened them again.
As she had hoped, the faces of the dead from her dream were gone, and in their places were the innocent and familiar visages of herself and her brother.
She stiffly got to her feet, still trying to blink away her disorientation. A sickening sensation was alive inside of her, making her pulse race and her appendages turn to ice.
It had been a dream, she knew. Granted, it was only the most uncompromisingly rational part of her which was aware that it had been a dream; based on the fact that she had just awakened from slumber. This knowledge, however, did little to relieve her of the hideous feeling of dread in her heart.
She had experienced the events in the dream before.
While it was possible that it was a recurring dream, constructed of bits and pieces of other dreams, other random thoughts and (perhaps blessedly unrelated and inconsequential) snippets from real life, the events, the order in which they played out, and the strong emotions which came with them seemed entirely too real to have been simply concocted in her subconscious.
You killed my family!
Guilt pulsed through her. She was growing quite familiar with its blinding power. She'd long ago learned to suppress the emotion, but aboard the Astro Megaship, in the quarters of her presumed dead brother, all her 'little tricks" were forgotten.
She was guilty, and she had much to feel guilty about.
Possibly even something for which no one would forgive her.
"Monnika," she said quietly, letting the syllables roll over her tongue. She wasn't able to stop her mind from running over every second of the woman's appearance in the dream.
A strong but gentle voice.
A beautiful, nurturing face which had awakened ancient instincts inside Astronema.
Was it familiar?
Should it have been?
She reached out for the framed photographs, and stared at them with as much concentration as her barely-awake eyes could muster.
She curiously gazed at the photograph of the little girl. Herself, but not herself.
The eyes. The eyes which she had long ago stopped looking into, except for as long as it took to apply her customary heavy-eyeliner-and-shadow makeup combination. Were they the same?
More importantly, were they the eyes of Monnika?
The little girl was wearing a yellow jumpsuit. She remembered, with a pang, that the warped and broken morpher in Monnika's hand had been yellow.
Was there a connection?
"Why can't I remember?" she asked, her voice reaching an emotionally high pitch.
"Is there something I can help you with, Karone?" a pleasant, artificial female voice inquired through the darkness.
Astronema jumped, and the two photos crashed to the ground. She cried out, expecting the glass to shatter. Fortunately, the frames remained intact, and she carefully picked them up and cradled them in her arms.
"Look at what you made me do, you stupid computer!" she snapped angrily.
"You may call me DECA," the ever-pleasant computer replied, seemingly oblivious to having been insulted.
Astronema scoffed as she put the pictures back on their shelf.
"Everything on this ship has a name, doesn't it? Should I have asked the name of the bed before I slept on it?!"
"I'm afraid I cannot answer your inquiry, Karone. Please restate your question."
She snarled, and began to pace the room.
"Would you like me to notify Andros that you are awake?" DECA asked.
"No!" Astronema said suddenly. Too suddenly. She was grateful that she was speaking to a machine that wasn't able to pick up on the guilt in her voice. "No. Don't bother him."
"Very well. Can I assist you with anything, Karone?"
She wished the computer would stop calling her that.
"Computer, are you equipped with personal records on the red—my bro—Andros' family?" she asked, before she knew she was asking it.
DECA hesitated for a moment, and, with a roll of her eyes (an ineffective but nonetheless necessary attempt to restore some feeling of normality to the situation), Astronema wondered if the computer was refusing to acknowledge her question if she didn't address it by name.
She was just beginning to restate her question, when DECA finally replied.
"All personal files and Simudeck programs are currently offline. Estimated repair time is five hours, seventeen minutes. Would you like to be notified when personal files become available?"
Astronema shook her head, almost relieved.
"No. Computer, locate…" she hesitated, "Ecliptor."
"Ecliptor is in Cargo Bay One," DECA's pleasant voice replied.
Of course. She had ordered him to wait for her there.
"Would you like directions?" DECA asked.
"No! Leave me alone. And don't tell Andros where I've gone."
"Very well."
