Title: Parterre Chapter Ten a – Night Terrors
Author: Psycha (psycha underscore fairy at yahoo dot co dot uk)
Series: TNG
Chapter rating: T
Codes: C, T, P
Chapter summary: The Enterprise has stumbled upon the missing science vessel Brattain. It's up to doctor Crusher to figure out what happened to its crew and the resulting stress causes some interesting situations.

A/N: I'm a little behind to the review-replies, my apologies. With mid-terms coming up this week, I've been rather busy. I will get back to y'all next week. In the mean time: thank you, thank you, thank you! Now on with the next chapter! xxx

Chapter Ten: "Night Terrors"

The beeping of the computer woke Beverly Crusher from a dreamless sleep. Groggily she rubbed her eyes and checked the time. She'd been asleep for little over six hours. Her grandmother was right, the reactions of Will and Jean-Luc weren't her responsibility, nor should they be the basis for her decisions. Still she worried.

This thing between her and Troi, if she allowed it to happen it wouldn't, couldn't be a fling, or something that could easily be called off. They were good friends, best friends even. They knew each other too well, cared too much for a casual relationship. That scared her too.

There was only one way out of the maelstrom of worries and fear, she decided while getting dressed. She and Deanna needed to talk.

After fixing her hair, make-up and making a necessary stop at the bathroom, she made up her mind. If she didn't go talk to Deanna now, she'd never find the courage again. "Computer, location of Counselor Troi."

"Counselor Troi is on the Bridge."

She cursed under her breath, plans thwarted. There was nothing else she could think of doing, even the Vulcan novel she'd been reading didn't take her fancy. Donning her uniform and lab coat, she decided to cut her day off short and head to sickbay.

The doors had barely closed behind her, or her combadge chirped. "Doctor Crusher, report to Transporter room three."

Where would they be going?. After the detours they'd made to pick up and then drop off Leah Brahms, the Enterprise was now back tracking down the missing science vessel USS Brattain. Perhaps they'd already found her?

The transporter room, one of the smallest areas of the ship, was packed with officers. Riker, Worf and Data were already waiting on the platform. Behind the console chief O'Brien was presumably checking the readings and laying in the coordinates.

"Sorry about that." Somehow she caught the tricorder that slipped out of her hand before it hit the floor. Her breath halted while Deanna Troi came around her. A whiff of floral perfume for a moment enveloping her. "Hello Bev, sorry your day off is being cut short."

"That's okay. I was a little bored anyway." Troi arched an eyebrow. "Where are we going?"

"We found the Brattain."

"Life forms?"

Her question was directed back at Riker, but it was Deanna who answered, "scans are inconclusive. I can sense there is someone alive, but nothing more." Beverly steeled herself for what they'd find as she climbed onto the platform. Deanna's black eyes were troubled, that never bode well.

"Let's have a look." Apparently she wasn't the only one dreading what they'd find. Will didn't sound too happy about beaming over to the science vessel. "Energize."

Still she wasn't used to one world dissolving into another. The effects of the transporter beam usually lifted as soon as she was solid again. Now the slight anxiety and sense of displacement lingered a few moments longer. She glanced around the Brattain-bridge, taking in the dark and depressing atmosphere. What happened here?

"There is no malfunction, in any of the main systems, sir." With half an ear she listened to Data and the rest of the away team as they moved around and checked for bodies. The bridge was smaller than the Enterprise's and she doubted it would be as light even when in full operation. Of course the ship was also a lot smaller than her own ship. Only thirty-five crewmembers, compared to over a thousand. Thirty-five possible casualties. She shuddered.

As a doctor she'd seen dozens of bodies, some more disfigured than others, but she would never get used to seeing any of them. The young officer she found lay slumped in his chair. His skin a telling grey. How did he die? There were some flesh wounds, but at first sight none of them seemed severe enough to take his life. Glancing over to her crewmates, she realized they had found bodies too. "The bridge crew" and probably every other person onboard.

"Whoever did this, could still be on the ship." She briefly looked over to Riker while quickly examining the body of the helm-officer. The paranoid undertones were unlike the commander's normal demeanor. Then again, a Starfleet vessel-turned-tomb was bound to rattle everyone's nerves, her own included.

"There is someone still alive," Troi declared and automatically she turned to follow the counselor, "but he didn't kill these people." What did the empath feel? She knew of instances when Deanna had picked up on emotions that lingered in a place long after it had been deserted. As far as she knew those instances were rare and unpredictable. Hopefully Troi would be spared such an experience now, the way the bodies were mutilated and the emotions frozen in dead eyes spoke of a volatile and terrifying event.

"Here." The grey door opened, allowing access to a dimly lit lift. The man sitting on the floor seemed dead to her at first, but the tricorder detected a weak heartbeat. "I think he's Betazoid." She felt Riker hovering behind her, watching Troi turn to the man as she did. "It's all right," the counselor promised, "we're going to help you. Who did this? Who did this to you?"

They'd all like to know the answer to that question. The man looked terrified and didn't respond to Troi or herself. Even Riker felt the pressure of death, shifting uneasily behind her. "Let's get him to sickbay Doctor." She was grateful for the commander's swift orders, eager to get back to the Enterprise herself.

# # #
A busy and crowded sickbay was seldom a good sign. Beverly weaved through the crew and found a little solitude in her office. Her team worked fast and efficiently, but the toll of thirty-four autopsies was showing on their faces. For a doctor, an autopsy was bitter, because it meant you'd already failed. All that was left was the chance to find out why you hadn't been able to save the patient.

The seven she'd performed in the last seven hours had left her numb and anxious. They were no closer to uncovering the mystery of the Brattain. All the deaths had been violent, but there didn't seem to be a consistent factor, other than fear and terror in the eyes of the victims.

Doctors Selar, Martin and Hacopian were finishing up the last autopsies, giving her time to start analyzing the gathered data, a task she dreaded. Through her window she stared out at sickbay's main area. Alyssa and one of her younger colleagues were treating a young lieutenant who'd torn a ligament or two in the holodeck. Their demeanor was professional, but Beverly could detect a hint of anxiety in their eyes.

"Computer, compare blunt force injuries of the Brattain crew, are there similarities?"

"Processing." She watched the data scroll over the screen but couldn't retain the information. With a sigh she stood up and wandered back into sickbay's hectic buzz.

"I found one hiding under his bed." Unintentionally she caught the conversation between a security officer and one of her medical technicians as they headed out to the corridors.

"Whatever happened there," the technician responded, "it must've been horrible. Most of the crew is horribly injured. Let's hope whoever did this doesn't come after us." For a moment she considered calling the young technician, Tarsis, back and remind him to keep his mouth shut. The whole situation was unnerving for the Enterprise crew, maybe it was better to let them talk their worries out with friends.

Quickly Crusher glanced over Alyssa's shoulder. The ligaments of the nurse's patients were indeed torn. Satisfied that he was healing nicely she moved onto the next bed. "How is he?"

Troi turned slightly, her expression conveying her frustration. "Nothing. He isn't responding at all." Andrus Hagan, the sole survivor of the Brattain lay prone on the biobed, unmoving and silent. Examinations had shown him to be in catatonic shock, a condition hard to treat under normal circumstances, but none of her treatments had any effect on the Betazoid. "I've cancelled some of my appointments," Troi admitted a little guiltily, "he might be the only one who knows what happened."

"The autopsies haven't shown anything conclusive so far." She felt the pressure to perform as well. Between the two of them they had the best chance of discovering what happened to the science vessel and it's crew. "I wish there was a way to bring him out of his catatonic state."

Deanna nodded and smiled a wavering smile. "I'll keep trying."

The doctor gave her friend an encouraging squeeze and headed for the morgue. Maybe something would jump out at her that she'd previously missed? Try as she might, she could see nothing. The bodies were the same as two hours ago and she couldn't find anything new.

"Doctor?" Startled she jumped, bumping into one of the tables. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"Jean-Luc!" It took a few moments to slow down her heartbeat and compose herself, watching as a nurse wheeled the last body to be examined out of the morgue. "We've almost finished the autopsies Captain."

There was a strange glint in the captain's eye for a second, but soon his gaze turned purposeful. "How long will it take to compile the data?"

She sighed, wishing the answer would come easy. Slowly she edged to the exit door, ready to leave the grim atmosphere of the morgue behind. "It's complicated. The dead were found all over the ship. Some were found locked in their rooms, barricaded with weapons piled all around them." Their last moments, huddled away like frightened animals. "Others were found in the corridors, where they'd obviously had hand to hand combat." She recognized the look in Picard's eyes. Shock and anger spoke of the sadness that such a fate became their colleagues and friends. "It's going to take some time to analyze and sort through the details."

The captain stayed silent and turned to where Troi was keeping watch over the rescued Brattain-officer. "We've identified him as Andrus Hagan, from Betazed. Scientific advisor," she clarified, knowing the captain wanted information and answers. At least she could give him one of the two. "He's in a profound catatonic state."

"I'm not getting much captain," Deanna joined in, "a few words… disconnected phrases. I can feel his terror, but I can't seem to get through to him."

She watched her two best friends, remembering a time when Jean-Luc hadn't trusted the empath. Now there was clear respect between them. Another thing she could end up destroying. Troi glanced at her curiously.

"Stay with him counselor." It was an order, she recognized it as such, though hidden beneath a layer of friendly advice. "We're examining the Brattain for clues, but, this is the only man left who knows what happened there." She followed Jean-Luc as he left and wished she could say something to lift the burden he must be feeling. Instead she ducked into her office, analyzing the data streaming across the monitor.

# # #
The data made no sense. Or rather, it made perfect sense. That was what troubled her. All thirty-four crewmembers of the Brattain had suffered violent deaths, but all at their own hands. They'd killed each other!

"Beverly?" Troi's head poked around the door. She looked defeated, still unable to get through to Hagan Beverly guessed. "You've been staring at the monitor for hours, you need a break."

Her back was stiff, and she hadn't eaten in ages. "How's your patient?"

"The same. I've had a little distraction from Reg, he says he keeps hearing transporterbeams."

"Transporterbeams?"

Deanna stepped in full view and shrugged her shoulders. "I could do with a real break. Care to join me?"

The offer was tempting, but she couldn't put off informing the captain of her non-findings any longer. "I have to talk to the captain." Did she see a flash of disappointment? "I could join you afterwards. Ten Forward?"

Deanna shook her head. "Too crowded. My quarters?"

Too late to backpedal now. Somewhat reluctantly she agreed. The empath smiled and turned on her heels. For a second she leered. Damn, she thought she'd finally taught herself not to do that. "Time to face the music."

Most of the crewmembers she encountered in the corridors greeted her, but in some of their eyes she saw questions burning. What happened to the Brattain? Would it happen to them as well?

"Come." As soon as the doors to the ready room opened she stepped inside, grateful to escape the questioning gazes of her crewmates. Still, it was a choice between two evils. Jean-Luc wasn't going to like what she had to tell him.

She, bearer of bad news, sat down on the sofa next to him, leaning in to make sure the importance of her words could not escape him. "I've been studying the autopsy reports. The conclusion is appalling." She gauged his reaction and waited until her warning reached his eyes. "There was no outside source, no alien presence, all thirty-four of them appeared to have killed each other!"

The confusion and the horrified surprise he must be feeling made way for the curiosity and drive for answers she expected of him. "What could've caused such an event? Drugs? A virus, poison?"

All options she'd thought off, and researched. "Toxicological tests showed no unusual substances in their systems and they all appear to be in good health, but for whatever reason they seem to have turned against each other. Using phasers and knives and bare hands." This was the part she dreaded most of all, "I'd like you to see this Captain. It's from the logs of the Brattain. Captain Zaheva's mental condition deteriorated steadily once they'd become stranded. She began talking of plots and mutinies. This," she pulled up the file on his monitor and stood back when it activated, "was the last entry in the log, made after they'd been adrift for over three weeks."

Captain's logs were often useful in reviewing missions gone wrong, but still it felt as an invasion of privacy. She didn't know captain Zaheva personally, but knew that Jean-Luc would have had at least a passing conversation with the woman. From the corners of her eyes she tried to unobtrusively observe his reaction. In silence they watched the ravings of a mad woman. The signs of paranoia and compulsive disorders were crystal clear.

The captain didn't outwardly react to the recording, she hadn't expected him to. After a few moments he turned to her, confusion and shock swimming in his eyes. "The Brattain's engines are in perfect working order, according to mister LaForge. Why would she think they were sabotaged?" He looked at her for answers, but Beverly had none to give.

On her way to Deanna's quarters she tried to think of excuses to cancel. Just when she admitted to herself that she couldn't think of any, her combadge activated. "Troi to Crusher. I have to cancel Beverly, something came up."

She felt guilty for being relieved. "That's all right Dea, I'll see you in sickbay." The counselor's cancellation probably meant that a patient needed her help. So much for a break.

"Doctor Crusher, please report to sickbay as soon as possible."

So much for a break indeed.