You are being stretched now. Or rather, your being is stretched to an unknown length, possibly infinity. Everything around you: objects, lights, colors, smells, loved ones are pulled in a line with no beginning nor an end. They are straight lines running parallel. Sometimes the lines are rigid and smooth; other times they swirl and wave. It all depends. You are not sure how. It just does. You want to touch the tips of your fingers. Either you are paralyzed or time has frozen. You want to panic and scream. In order for that thought to become action, you understand that that purple line would have to merge with that neon-green one. Impossible. They are two separate elements of an unending transition. These thoughts pull off of your consciousness a strand at a time. You are concerned that the yarn of thoughts is undoing your existence like the unspooling of a beautiful sweater. Perhaps if you quiet your mind. Quiet your mind. Quiet. Your. Mind.

You are on your knees in engineering. You remember being on the bridge at the event horizon? Shake your head: all that matters is reality and the wholeness of your being. Wesley and Geordi are braced against a conduit that's charred black and crushed in spots. Wes' face is twisted in a manner that reflects your feelings: what the fuck was that? Wes stammers, "What the hell was that?"

"I…" Geordi taps his visor. "I'm not sure." He takes a breath. "But we need to fix the shield generator." Wesley nods in agreement. He picks up a laser solder to fire into an exposed panel. Geordi replaces a row of isolinear chips with a newer set.

"Bridge to engineering." Captain Picard's irritation is evident through the comm-system.

Geordi taps his comm-badge. "Geordi here."

"Mr. La Forge," there is weight in Picard's response. "I have no impulse power, limited sensors, weapons are disabled, and still no shields."

"We're working on it, Captain." Geordi shakes his head. "We'll have shields momentarily."

"We are deaf, blind and helpless. I demand better results. Picard out."

Geordi hangs his head and takes a deep breath. The muscles along his jawline tighten. "Barclay," Geordi shouts over his shoulder.

Without hesitation, a wide-eyed and nervous man peers around a bulkhead. A laceration along his cheek oozes blood. "Y-yes, Lieutenant Commander?"

Geordi continues manipulating components in the busted panel. "Reggie, any idea what the hell happened?" He pauses to address Lieutenant Reginald Barclay.

"I'm not sure, sir, but I think when we went through without shields it caused-"

"Went through what?" Geordi crosses his arms.

"Sir, we were sucked into a wormhole, according to the bridge log. I think that the stress was too much for the inertial dampeners." He looks over at Wesley and frowns. "The stress on the hull-"

"Was enormous," Wesley adds. "It's a miracle we're in one piece."

"That's what that was." Geordi strokes his chin. "Back to your post, Reg." He points at Wesley. "We need to get these engines back online. You got this?"

"Should be fine." Wesley closes the panel. Geordi exits at a brisk pace.

'I don't understand', says a distant voice.

"Excuse me?" Wesley looks around the room. "Hello?" His brow knits in confusion as he scans the shield generator area. He spots at least six things that need mending. Wes shakes off the prickly sensation that he's being watched.

"I want you to make certain that that is accurate," Picard snaps at Data. The red alert lights continue to pulse.

Riker, now leaning far back in his commander's chair, says in a hushed voice, "If that were true than we are several thousand light years away from Federation space." You notice Riker clutching at the arms of the chair for support. He's trying to remain upright and conscious despite the blood loss.

Data taps away at his console. He raises an eyebrow. "While sensors are limited, the star charts remain intact." He swivels to face Picard. "We are located in the Delta quadrant. At maximum warp, it would take thirty years to reach the nearest Federation outpost."

"Not possible," Riker murmurs.

"Engineering to the Bridge." Wesley's voice is cool and confident.

Picard responds, "Go ahead."

"Captain, the shields are back online."

"Is this Mr. Crusher?"

"Ay, Captain. We need all the help we can get down here."

"Understood. We'll spare all we can. Good work on the shields, Picard out." Picard pats Riker on the shoulder.

Worf's mind is sharp. The battle has not ended as both combatants remain alive. "Captain, recommend we raise shields."

Picard shakes his head. "There's no need to expense any unnecessary energy; however, keep alert."

"Sensors are too limited to defend us against an attack. An enemy could be closing on us as we speak-"

"Noted, Mr. Worf." Picard turns his attention to the back of Data's head. "Mr. Data, are there any indications of the anomaly?"

"Negative; however, the sensors available are inadequate to detect the theta band variances that the original exhibited." He turns in his chair to face Picard. "Captain, shall I report to engineering to assist with the repairs?" You understand that Data is incapable of emotion, but his calmness is eerie given the dire consequences of a starship adrift and defenseless.

Picard rises from his captain's chair. An alert chimes at Worf's tactical station. "Enemy ship detected!"

"Shields up!"

"Ay, shields up."

"Picard to Engineering."

"Go ahead, Captain," replies an exasperated Geordi.

"Geordi, we have an enemy closing. I need my ship back!"

"Ay, Captain. Impulse is almost back online, but I need more time."

"That's not a luxury we can afford. Picard out."

Worf growls. He's noticed Lieutenant Commander Data has resumed his post at helm. 'A warrior cannot die defenseless', he thinks. "Captain, enemy is at thirty-kilometers and closing fast. There are indications of severe hull damage. Recommend we ram them as soon as impulse is back!"

Picard turns to look up at tactical. He notices a desperation in Worf's eyes. A rare indication of anxiety. "Mr. Worf, military history has shown little evidence for the effectiveness of ramming."

"We must do something!"

"They are well within firing range. No, they want something else. Turn on the siren. Prepare to be boarded."

Worf produces a toothy grin. He could not recall the last time he dismembered a man that wasn't a hologram. "Ay, ay, Captain." Worf sends a silent order to a security ensign: 'Permission to enter my quarters. Bring me my Bat'leth'.

Wes is elbows deep in a nest of wiring that disappears down a jefferies tube. His silhouette pulses blue as the warp core beats out a comforting rhythm that eases Wesley's dull headache. He finds the twist lock connection and disconnects one of the thick cables. He taps his communicator, "Wesley to Barclay, it's disconnected."

"Ten-four. Uh," Lieutenant Barclay's voice fades and then clicks away.

"Wes to Barclay. Is everything ok on your end? Is it the wrong cable?"

"No, sorry. I mean, it's the correct cable, but, uh we have orders to arm ourselves." Wesley rubs his temples. "Uh, do you know-did you get trained in combat readiness or phaser-"

"I'm good, Lieutenant. Reporting to an armory immediately. Wes out." He feels pressure behind his eyes. Wes wonders if this is collateral damage from the severed link with Anna. He takes a deep breath in, pinches the space between his eyebrows and exhales. It is a calming technique he learned from a Vulcan at the academy. An image of a frightened Anna huddled under a blanket blinks through this mindful exercise. "She'll be fine," he whispers to no one.

'Don't worry', Anna whispers into Wes' mind. It's soft and breathy.

'You can hear my thoughts', Wes responds.

'I'll be fine', she replies.

Wesley shakes his head vigorously. "Please," he says aloud, "I need to concentrate." The dull ache and tightness in his shoulders eases. Wes is shaken as a wave of love and warmth flows into his being. He is so moved that a tear escapes his right eye.

"Geordi to Wes. I need ya in propulsion immediately." Geordi's tone is frantic, but all Wesley can feel is a calm focus. "Geordi to Wesley Crusher?"

Wes wipes away the tear. "Wes here. I'm just around the corner, Lieutenant Commander."

You are in a jeffries tube observing Geordi manipulate an impossibly complex access panel filled with advanced circuitry. The tube is just wide enough for Geordi to crouch on his hands and knees, pulling wrenches and soldering tools from an angular box. The tube is connected by a vertical access section. He peers down it. "Got anything?" He shakes his head. "Damnit. I thought that may have been it."

Wesley pops his head into the jeffries tube to investigate Geordi's work on the panel. "Looks correct. I wonder if you replace the capacitors along the flow regulator?"

"Might as well give it a try."

Wesley watches Geordi work. He feels fortunate to have him as a friend. Geordi is a great officer, the best engineer in Starfleet, and a good person. "Why are we armed?"

Sparks from Geordi's optical solder pen harmlessly blanket the jeffries tube. "Captain thinks we'll be boarded."

"With our shields up?"

Geordi's gold visor often makes it difficult to discern emotion, but Wes has learned to read Geordi's mouth. Now it is askew in thought. "You're right. At the very least we should feel them blasting it into submission."

"Who are these people?" Wes props his head on his crossed arms. Geordi remembers a younger Wesley Crusher, barely a teenager. Smart, talented, and always curious.

"No one knows." He rummages through the tool box, "but we'll figure it out. Let's get this ship moving, eh?" Wes smiles and nods.

"That should do it. Check it now." Geordi clicks the panel shut. You see his face tense with the weight of several hundred repairs ahead: small and large.

"Looks good." Wes pops back into the jeffries tube. He smiles, patting Geordi on the shoulder. "OK, what's next?"

"Commander, er, Lieutenant, uh, shit! Come in!" Barclay's voice is hushed and strained.

Geordi sighs, "Go ahead, Barlcay. Now what's wrong?"

"We've been boarded. Th-th-they took our center control console."

"Set phasers to stun and shoot, soldier!" Geordi army-crawls to the vertical jeffries tube. He shouts down to Wesley. "We got company. I hope you remember your training, cadet."

"Ay, Lieutenant Commander. Passed with flying colors." Wes, standing under a bulkhead sets his phaser, which is the size and shape of a men's electric razor.

Barclay chimes in. "I- I- I- Hurry, sir!"

"This is your Captain speaking." Picard's voice is weathered. "Repel the enemy at all costs. Set phasers to maximum setting. Do not hesitate. Do not fall back. Picard out."

At the access door leading out to a corridor, Geordi sucks in a deep breath. Wesley watches him intently, poised to open the door. Geordi nods. The door opens to silence; the red alert lights pulsing a sickening hue that colors Wes' profile nuclear red as you watch him check the corridor, left and right. He turns the corner quickly and Geordi follows.

You follow in line behind Geordi and Wes as they carefully snake through the corridor: phasers at the ready. As they approach main engineering, wisps of smoke tinged with the scent of burnt plastic and scorched metal wafts through the corridor. Wes and Geordi hide behind a bulkhead. The sound of phaser fire exchange blisters through the air, mixing with the intelligible shouts and directions of the engineering crew in defense. You get a glimpse of the room when Wes braves a quick survey of the chaos. Barclay and six other engineers are scattered about the anteroom to the warp core, taking cover where they can. Large bipedal aliens teleport in and out of the space at will, firing blasts from the hip at the huddled engineers.

Geordi and Wes swing around the bulkhead, firing at the nearest alien, whose personal force fields absorb the phaser blasts. The alien returns fire, narrowly missing Geordi, leaving a devastating scorch mark on the bulkhead. The alien advances to a computer console. It slaps a device on the front of the unit, activates a wrist communicator, and the unit teleports away.

A startled ensign realizes her cover has dematerialized. She pops up, swings her phaser into action. The intruder moves quickly to disarm her. She screams as the alien grips her face with his powerful hand. She helplessly clutches its forearm, her shrill cries of terror muffled by the scaly fist.

Wesley charges with a gutteral battle cry that rises from his primordial being. His phaser blast is easily deflected by its personal force field.

The alien, standing well over six feet tall, smiles at the feeble attempt. This close you notice it's skin is grey and scaled like a pallid alligator. It's head is rimmed in menacing horns. It is covered from the neck down in advanced military gear. It nearly drops the blaster as it mercilessly obliterates the young engineer's head like a ripe melon; clawing deep into the woman's skull. There is a sickening crunch as blood bursts around his fist.

Wesley advances, blasting into the alien's force field. The ensign's now limp body is half incinerated as electric flames engulf the alien. Wes tosses the phaser away as he gets closer to the malignant entity.

It is amused at Wes' tenacity, drops the ensign's charred torso, and prepares for an easy victory.

'Run', Anna pulses the message into Wes' mind. He shakes it aside. Wes' fists curl into tight balls as he recalls the countless anbo-jyutsu sessions with Riker.

The spiked alien, towering over Wesley, taps a control on his wrist mount. It holsters the blaster with a magnetic click to it's thigh. Before Wes can engage the monstrosity, a phaser beam slashes past Wesley, narrowly missing his head. It disintegrates the alien's arm. Immediately, the alien turns a device on its chest, and it's gone. All of the aliens teleport away.

Wesley peers over his shoulder at Barclay, hand shaking with phaser poised. Wes crosses the anteroom and lowers Barclay's phaser. Barclay begins to weep.

Wes takes stock of the room. The aliens have stolen several computer consoles including the central command island. They probably do not understand that all the equipment is useless. The computer, Wes estimates, has already re-routed command functions to other stations. As the adrenaline drains from his body, he is suddenly queasy. You watch as Wesley crouches to take a breath.

'I can hear their thoughts'. Anna's messages are stronger now. Wes is dizzy with the clarity of her voice ringing in his mind. 'They're searching now. Before they were gathering'. You see Wes breath through the sensations. The connection between he and Anna transmits emotion now. She is upset, Wes understands. 'Yes', Anna replies. 'I wish you were here to hold me'.

Geordi takes two strides over to Wes, who is genuflecting like a shell-shocked Word War II soldier. He might as well have been a G.I. in northern France. "It's not over." Geordi squeezes his shoulder. "We need to stay together, close ranks. Do you understand?" Geordi's voice is firm and calm. Wes nods in acknowledgement.

Geordi taps his communicator. "Engineering to bridge."

"Report." Picard's voice is terse.

"Captain, we've just repelled an attack. They teleported out several computer stations. Nothing of consequence. Requesting a security detail-"

"You say, they've taken Federation equipment?"

"Yes sir. I count six computer stations gone."

"Understood. Resume repairs."

"Sir, we need security-"

"Geordi, there's fighting on multiple decks. I recommend you work in shifts."

"But sir-"

"Get photon torpedoes back online. Picard out."

Geordi shakes his head. "Well, you heard the Captain. Barclay and Harris take first watch. Wes and the rest of you are with me."

Barclay's eyes are wide and pleading, "but-but-but…"

Geordi pat's Barclay on the shoulder. "You'll do fine, Reg." He looks down at the mutilated corpse. "Just remember what they did to O'Connell."

You see Wes shake off his distant gaze. He stands, adjusts his uniform, and follows Geordi and crew.

They enter the warp core. He watches Geordi give direction to the exhausted engineers. He points to several jeffries tubes, speaking quickly. Wes feels detached like a fly-on-the-wall: Geordi's lips move, but Wes is outside of the moment. He comprehends Geordi's orders without hearing anything. Geordi looks at Wes pointedly. Wesley realizes the rest of the crew has dispersed. He shrugs, "Let's get to work."

A stabbing pain slashes into his cortex, touching deep. The sensation strangles his limbic system. Wesley gasps.

Geordi grabs his arm as he sways from the force of Anna's call. 'They're looking for me. They-they're getting closer'.

"Whoa, what happened?" Geordi asks.

Anna's voice is a torrent: 'They are surging on my deck. They're coming. They're coming. They're coming'. Waves of fear rollover Wes, eroding his consciousness like grains of sand on a stormy shore.

"What's going on?" Geordi shouts.

Wesley pulls away from Geordi after catching a break. "I'm coming," he whispers.

'It's not safe'.

"I know."

'It's too late'.

"Never."

"Hey," Geordi barks, "who the hell are you talking too?"

"I can't explain it- I'm talking to Anna. I'm sorry." He sprints out of engineering, heart thumping like an out of control piston. She calls. He can feel her like a warm body under the covers. He can smell her soft hair like a field of mint warming in the sun. He catches glimpses of her eyes like dark stars, guiding him through the Enterprise D.

Wesley Crusher quickly maps out a route through the jeffries tubes that drop him behind the battle lines, right at her quarters. He takes the turbolift a deck above Anna's and methodically makes his way. Wes uses the engineering schematics he committed to memory when he was thirteen. The maze of tubes and ladders are a blur.

Wesley drops into a hall that pulses red along the running boards. To you, this deck is indistinguishable from any other. Your attention is drawn to the approaching sound of a struggle. Wes' eyes are wide with focus. Sweat dots his brow as a he turns away from the noise. He thinks hard at Anna. 'I'm outside'. He passes door after door before one opens.

Anna is nowhere to be seen. "Wesley?" Her voice is small and defenseless. Wes swallows back a knot of fear, and finds Anna in bed. She is curled under a blanket. She is sweating profusely rolled in the fetal position with the silvery sheet pulled up and under her chin. Wesley slowly reaches out and touches Anna's brown, curly locks that flow like beautiful vines over the pillow. They are soft and cool to the touch. Her hair, Wes decides, is perfectly spun silk, the finest in the galaxy. You notice a tear dribble onto the pillow as she leans into his touch, closing her eyes at the sensation. "I'm sorry."

There are thumps in the distance. It could be a raucous party except for the muffled Klingon battle cry. "Don't be." Wes unholsters his phaser and watches through the threshold into the sitting room. His phaser is set to incinerate; seems more symbolic.

"They know I'm different," Anna continues. "They're looking for me and…" She takes in a shaky breath. "They've been tracking you."

Wes taps his communicator. "Wesley Crusher to Security."

"Go ahead." Worf growls back.

"Requesting security in Senior Cadet Anna Smith's quarters."

"Kinda busy right now. We'll be there as soon as we-" Worf's surprise is punctuated with six invaders that teleport directly into the main room of Anna's quarters.

"Worf, they're here."

"On my way."

In a rare instance, Worf materializes in Anna's bedroom as a site-to-site transport. Lucky guess, Wes thinks. Worf's uniform is shredded to the waist. Deep cuts criss-cross his hulking figure. He looks at Wes and Anna with teeth gnashed. He turns toward the alien's, bat'leth at the ready. The razor sharp tips, all four on the slashing weapon, drips red with blood.

The intruders are Worf's equal in size, but lack his rage that pumps adrenaline throughout his heaving form. He charges. The bat'leth is a blur as he works it between the six aliens. One-on-one, these invaders would not stand a chance, but the six are too much for the Klingon. What appears to be the leader of the group, dispatches Worf of his weapon and works his body with lightning quick jabs to the midsection. Two other aliens jump on Worf, curling him to the ground.

Wes kneels to hold Anna in his arms. He folds around her trembling body like the petals of a flower protecting the stigma. The invaders cross into the bedroom. Their forms are dark shadows that melt away from the walls and floor, moving closer. Every now and then ambient light reflects off their silvery, beady eyes. It makes you feel cold. Shivers roll down your spine as three of the aliens close on the lovers locked in a pose like a Grecian statue titled, 'Young Lovers, One Dying'.

The largest alien, the one that bested Worf, picks up Wes' phaser, which had dropped to the floor next to the bed. It inspects the device. Satisfied, it puts the tip of the phaser against Wes' temple. The invader's scaly lips sneer as its grip tightens on the hilt. "Ch'akkdah almaharib alsaghir." Its voice is low and smooth, rolling the 'r'.

Anna's eyes flutter open. 'No'. The invaders blink in recognition. 'This must stop'. The leader lowers the phaser. 'Leave us'. It throws its head back and roars. You and Wesley are startled at the gutteral sound erupting from the beast. Emotion is impossible to discern. Wes loosens his grip when he notices Anna's steely gaze. The leader raises the phaser, pointing it straight at Wesley's head.

Anna inhales and closes her eyes. A ringing sound crescendos between Wes' ears. It grows relentlessly into a mind-splitting siren that shakes his bones. He drops to the bed, burrowing into the covers. In the cacophonous fury, Wes glimpses the aliens similarly disabled. They fall to the ground like wounded animals in a webbed trap. It takes effort for Wes to retain any semblance of consciousness. There are periods of blackness, interspersed with images: writhing alien invaders and Anna standing on her bed. The pain is white hot; unlike any sensation. It is like… certain death.

Anna's voice chimes clear through the caterwauling emotions that ring the sides of Wes' skull. Her lips do not move. 'LeaveNowLeaveNowLeaveNowLeaveLeaveLeaveLeave'. He can feel his id and ego collapsing under the strain. You see Wesley's eyes are open wide with concentric circles of terror. Sweat pours down his scalp as he begs for release, relief, release, relief, release, relief.

One by one you watch as the intruders teleport away. You look through Anna's porthole. The dark angular alien ship looms just outside. It is there and now it is not. In a flash of brilliance, the alien ship stretches into warp from a standstill.

Anna drops to her knees in the mess of the silvery throw on the bed. A thin drop of blood runs from her left nostril just touching her lips. Anna's eyes, those dark pearls, roll back into her head. She falls onto the bed as mental exhaustion floods her overworked mind. Anna shuts down.

The mental miasma clears Wesley's mind. He blinks hard. It takes him a moment to focus. The room is a blur of shapes. Quickly, the shapes become objects. As his mind relaxes, the objects gain meaning: chair, table, window, space. Wesley's mind throbs with the dull ache of a concussion. He is nauseous. Wes raises to an elbow in a half sitting position. His back is turned toward Anna. It takes Wesley a few breaths to appreciate that he is alive. His psyche is sore, but he feels intact after Anna's assault. He twists to see Anna unconscious on top of the covers. He strokes away a tear from her cheek. Wesley Crusher leans in and kisses her damp forehead. He presses his head against hers. Wes has been holding it back for so long, and now it comes in a torrent. He sobs. There is no reasoning or logic. It is pure release. Wes holds Anna's face in his hands, and he weeps. "Please come back." His voice flutters a bit. "Please come back. Don't go." Wes' plea is soft like a desperate man in confession.