NIGHT WALK

Enterprise's living, lumbering thrum pulsed softly through Hoshi Sato where she lie in her bed, listening to the multilingual hierarchies of sound in the ship's engines. The sounds melted between layers to form a language, after a fashion; there was communication between reactant injectors and the dilithium matrix and the warp core, a trigger from one process to another as word triggers word. As each piece of the Enterprise's many-layered guts completed its task, it produced a certain sound, to which the next stage answered with its own. It was comforting, in a way, to know the Enterprise talked to herself.

And, she had discovered, the ship had her own distinctive voice. She was proud and feline, her vibrations a low-throated purr, her speed that of a puma to match. Trip always said that he couldn't sleep with the warp engines off-line.

She was beginning to agree with him.

Hoshi lay now, wakeful and content, hands folded behind her head, enjoying the only language in the universe, including English, that Trip knew better than she did.

She remained there for some time, watching each hour as it came, lamenting each as it passed. If she did not do more than doze soon, she would hardly be fit for duty in the morning. Already she had arrived on the bridge for two consecutive mornings with bloodshot eyes and a hand surreptitiously masking a yawn. The bridge crew, including Jon since the away team returned from VISAC, had pretended not to notice, which she considered very sweet of them—but there had been plenty of times in the past when he, at least, had something to say about her nervous insomnia.

That's how mistakes get made, Hoshi, Jon—Captain Archer—had once told her. A rested crewman, or woman, is a useful crewman.

There had been a time when she would have reminded him of his own erratic sleeping habits. She came close to it despite his rank, hoping to disguise it as respectful teasing even if her indignation were really at the root of it—but that, as they say, was another story.

The previous mornings had been unearned grace, but Hoshi knew that one more incident would start tongues wagging. She had to get to sleep, and fast. Maybe Doctor Phlox would be able to give her something to help, if she asked. She got up, slipped on a robe and slippers, and left her quarters.

There were advantages, she had discovered, to serving on a starship. For one thing, nothing was ever closed or unmanned. But the downside was that moving about unnoticed was all but impossible. If any of the active duty shift saw her out here in her pajamas and dressing gown, she'd die. Officially.

The corridor was brilliant, almost achingly luminous, after the simulated night of her quarters, the lights making her blink rapidly against the afterghosts. She glanced to her left and to her right, like a child crossing the street, looking superficially for any sign of another human being (or Vulcan, or Denobulan), but listening far more intently, a process she was barely aware of any more, sifting through the layers for footsteps coming around the corner.

Nothing. No, wait—there. There were footfalls, a single set, soft and barely audible below the comforting rumble of the ship's innards, as if their owner walked barefoot. Hoshi hesitated, intrigued; why would anyone go barefoot outside their quarters on the Enterprise? Even she had thought to find her slippers. And, by the bare whisper of it, this somebody was light on their feet. She pressed herself silently against her own doorway, and watched.

Moments later she saw a shadow trace the wall of the corridor's outer curve, and Lieutenant Reed came into view, slowly following it. He was barefoot, she noted, but his feet were not the first thing to draw her helpless eyes, nor even the second; he was wearing nothing but his Starfleet-issue jockey shorts. His eyes were closed, his spiky brown hair crumpled and slept on.

Lieutenant, I didn't know you walked in your sleep, she muttered to herself. She was amused, a little; and if she was embarrassed by his lack of clothing, then that did not prevent her from making a swift appraisal. Purely academic, of course.

He did not hear her, and walked on.

she echoed, knowing it would not wake him.

He disappeared around the far bend.

Malcolm Reed, you owe me big, Hoshi murmured, belted her robe tighter, and followed.

---------------------------------

Hoshi became his silent shadow, tracing his path through the network of half-slumbering corridors and whispering lifts, masking herself in the doorways and alcoves those few times she thought he might turn; but he never did turn, or hesitate, and Hoshi managed to remain undetected and did not wake him. She mentally prepared what she might say if a crewmember came by and saw this silent midnight ballet, but luckily, none did. There was very little to say but the truth.

Reed was leading her, with little of his customary grace but with an unerring ability to avoid obstructions, pause for lifts, and make the correct turnings. As if someone were whispering in his ear, guiding him. Every movement was decisive, yet ambiguous; he sometimes abruptly chose a turn only to slow resistantly against it at the last.

He was heading, however ambivalently, for engineering.

Malcolm Reed, what are you up to? she whispered, not without affection, and followed. As far as she could see, he was wandering in answer to the influence of a dream, from the fine sheen of sweat on his skin not a pleasant one. Perhaps if she gave him his distance, he would eventually return to his quarters alone or else wake from it unaided. Even from here, she could hear his breathing clearly over the lyrical hum of the engines, harsh, draining, feverish. He sounded scared, but excited. She wished she could see his face, but his rigid shoulders and straight back were to her, and she could not see.

Engineering ran on a skeleton crew during the graveyard shift, but it was by no means empty. Hoshi had to slip into an alcove within seconds of entering to avoid being seen by two passing crewmen. To her surprise, Reed instinctively did likewise, although after witnessing his confident yet argumentative navigation she should have expected it. He was asleep, no doubt of that, but was somehow still miraculously aware of his surroundings.

He was away again once the coast cleared, dodging and weaving between alcoves, shadows, and consoles that offered shelter from sight. Hoshi, determined not to be seen in engineering in her pajamas and slippers shadowing a half-naked Reed, but by now concerned he may inadvertently harm himself, was helpless to do anything but follow.

He knew, or whatever directed him knew, where he was going, and that worried her. It was as if he had a specific agenda here, and was not merely sleepwalking in answer to some vivid dream. Nobody saw them pass by, the shut-eyed armory officer and his pensive shadow. Whatever this bizarre behavior led to, whatever its purpose, she was on her own.

---------------------------------

He paused, at last, beside a conduit set behind a panel in the wall. Hoshi had taken an elementary engineering course to qualify for this position on the Enterprise, but most of it had quietly left her head since; in one ear and out the other, as her family liked to say. She did not know what this panel or this conduit did. Already Reed was reaching for it, determination etched firmly into his backlit profile, and Hoshi hesitated, one hand half-raised to his shoulder, torn in two incompatible directions. She knew the risks of waking someone that sleepwalked, especially somebody so likely to lash out as their armory officer, but that panel could be anything—he might electrocute himself, blow up the ship, anything. She had to wake him, and take the chance.

She closed her hand gingerly on his bare shoulder, laying her fingers over the white ridge of a scar she had not noticed before on the rare occasions she saw him out of uniform. He was hot to the touch, brightly feverish and his lips moved soundlessly over words even her superior ears could not make out.

she ventured, softly.
He shuddered under her hand, uttering one tuneful, startled sound in his throat, and his reaching hands fell to his sides, his head half-turning to her.

she said again.

He looked down at his almost indecent state, then around at the walls of the engineering gantry. What am I doing in engineering? What happened?

You were sleepwalking, Lieutenant. Don't you remember?

He shook his head, his ice blue eyes closely following her face as she spoke. He looked shell shocked, and almost childishly bewildered. he said.

Hoshi realized suddenly that her hand still rested on his shoulder, and he followed her gaze as she glanced down to it. Neither said a word. She hastily took her hand away, embarrassed. Weren't you dreaming? she asked again. Don't you remember anything?

He caught her hastily averted eyes, held them, and said, very softly:

I don't remember a thing.