Mezoti kicked and flailed with her limbs against the thing holding her down, pressing her to the floor. Surprisingly enough, it gave way. In fact, it wasn't very heavy at all.

    Mezoti realized that her eyes were closed. She opened them, and took several moments to recognize her surroundings as being her bedroom. She slowly began taking in deep breaths, trying to calm herself down. She still felt afraid and panicky from the nightmare. Soon enough, the anxiety created by the nightmare dissolved and was replaced by relief that it had only been a dream.

    No, not just a dream. Also a memory.

    Mezoti shook her head, as if trying to clear the lingering wisps of the nightmare from her head. Unsuccessful, she decided that a brief walk and a glass of water would level her out enough so that she could get back to sleep.

    She swung her legs around the side of bed. Getting up, she felt something rub against her leg. She glanced down and saw her blanket. I must have kicked it off at some point. She quickly made the link to the feeling of oppression she had when she woke up.

    Mezoti was pleased to have made the connection. It showed that she was starting to think calmly again. After all, she wasn't a little kid anymore. To be afraid of a (memory) dream was just foolish.

    Dreams are irrelevant a voice in her mind said, but Mezoti pushed it away and walked over to the hygiene room. Detecting movement inside the room, the habitat computer switched on the lights – only at half-intensity, since the computer recognized this time as being during the inhabitant's sleep cycle. Nonetheless, Mezoti squinted as she walked over to the silvery sink.

    She placed her hands under the faucet, which automatically turned on and divulged a steady stream of water. After running her hands through it a few times, she lowered her face to the sink. Cupping some water in her hands, she brought the cradle to her face and spread it over her face. The smooth feel of the cold water was relaxing, giving the momentary illusion of being submerged and protected in a peaceful lake or river.

    She looked up into the mirror above the sink, and the illusion was shattered. Little droplets of water glistened on her pale skin, running down her nasal ridge and cheekbones before joining the others hanging precariously from her chin. Her long brown hair hung loosely behind her, a few wisps falling in front of her face. But her eyes were fixed on the small, round piece of metal permanently attached to her left temple. Jet-black save for a few grey circuits, it was an unwelcome reminder of the dream/memory she had just experienced – not that it was welcome at any time.

    She often felt that the irremovable Borg implant did nothing more set her apart from everyone else – even more so than her Norcadian heritage. She knew that Taré disagreed; he said it made her look mysterious, but then, that was his job.

    Mezoti still didn't feel at peace, but that wasn't a very uncommon feeling for her. At least she felt calm enough now to get back to sleep. Perhaps the dreams would not come again tonight. Or perhaps they will be pleasant. Either way, she knew that she had to work tomorrow, which meant that she needed her rest. It was pointless to put off the inevitable.

    Resistance is futile.