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heard the gentle cascade of breaking ocean waves, smelled the subtle fragrance of brine mixed with the aroma of exotic flora.

Even in the dimness, he knew: This was Talaal, the resort where he had spent his wedding night.

He turned on his side and found her lying beside him, her face limned silver by starglow, her dark hair long and soft, scented like the flowers.

“Leandra,” he whispered, and wept, the dam of pent-up emotion finally breaking. He slid his arms around her and held her to his heart, burying his face in her hair. Miracle of miracles, she was solid, warm—no dream, but real, truly here in his arms.

“Leanalta, oh gods, dear gods, Leandra…”

The universe was once again sane, just.

“Tolian?” she murmured sleepily. “Darling, what is it?” His torment brought her back to consciousness. “What’s wrong? Were you dreaming?”

“Yes, dreaming,” he said bitterly, lips brushing her hair. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll never leave …. “

“Of course I’ll never leave you, Tolian. You know that. But what—”

Her image faded, paled like a vanishing ghost. He cried out, horrified to find that he no longer clasped her soft solid body, but empty air. Yet he could see her faintly before him, a ribbon of moonlight illuminating her lovely face, her troubled eyes. See her, and not touch her…

“Leandra!” he cried, but he could not hear the words that issued from her moving lips. At the same time, he became aware of another reality enveloping them, surrounding them: he was standing with the refugees from the Lakul aboard a different ship—a Federation ship.

40

“No!” Soran screamed with fury and grief, clawing at Leandra’s outstretched hand; his own passed through empty air. “Noooo… !”

For a fleeting instant, Pavel Chekov paused in the open doorway and stared in awe—not at the state-of- the-art medical equipment, or the sleeker, more spacious sickbay design, but at the horrific tableau within.

Some fifty Lakul survivors—all graceful humanoids, the last remnants of the long-lived El Aurian race—lay draped unconscious over diagnostic beds, sat stunned on the carpets, or huddled moaning against bulkheads. It was not their physical injuries that made Chekov and the two reporters who flanked him briefly recoil. Most seemed relatively unscathed—in body, at least; but what horrified Chekov most was the look in the El Aurians’ eyes, a look he knew he would never be able to forget.

He could not shake the notion that he had just walked into an eighteenth-century madhouse.

Those conscious stared at some distant, alluring sight, one so beautiful that some were stricken into silence. Others clawed at the air, grasping vainly at the invisible desired. Yet none shared the same vision; each was lost to his own inner world. Moans, whispers, soft weeping filled the air in an eerie discordant litany.

The colors are touching me

I’m caught in the glass

I can see the seconds

Help me. Help me…

Chekov had understood that morning why Captain Kirk had not wanted to come aboard the Enterprise-B. Chekov had not wanted to either; he had seen no good

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reason to sit aboard a starship feeling useless. Yet like the captain, he had not been able to stay away.

But the moment Kirk had taken command of the ship, Chekov felt an overwhelming sense of exhilaration. For the first time in a year, he felt a sense of purpose—a sense of rightness, of belonging—which he had not experienced since retirement, so he did not hesitate to take charge of sickbay. His emergency medical training as head of security aboard the Reliant would serve him now in good stead.

He hesitated in the doorway to sickbay for only an instant, then came to himself and quickly located diagnostic scanners. He handed one to each of the journalists mone male, one female, both Terran—with brief instructions.

Before he finished, the ship gave a sudden lurch, flinging them against a nearby bulkhead. “Good lord!” the man cried out, his scanner clattering to the floor as Chekov collided against him. “What was that?”

Chekov regained his footing quickly, scooped up the scanner, and handed it back to the man, who simply stared back in fear.

“Take it,” he ordered. “We’ve got to get moving—”

The woman’s eyes were wide. “But what was that? Do you think the energy ribbon—”

The ship shuddered again; she dropped her scanner and clung to the bulkhead.

“It doesn’t matter what it is,” Chekov said shortly. “We’ll leave that to those on the bridge. These people need our help.” And at the dull, frightened stares that replied, he thundered, exasperated, “Don’t think. Just move,” with such force that the two finally retrieved their scanners and followed him into the moaning crowd.

Don’t make me go; please, let me stay …. I’m caught, let me go Help me. Someone, help me ….

“It’s all right,” Chekov soothed. He crouched down beside a beautiful, ageless woman with long auburn hair who seemed unharmed. Her sorrowful pale eyes never focused on him, but remained fixed on some far distant point. “It’s all right. Miss… ma’am… can you hear me?”

She did not reply, did not seem at all aware of his presence as he quickly ran the scanner over her. Nothing serious, just some bruised ribs. The same held true for the next survivor—the same near-catatonia, a few scrapes. By the third patient, Chekov looked over at the male journalist, who was tending a slightly wounded victim beside him.

“Only minor injuries so far,” he said, and the man gave a nod to indicate he had found the same; two El Aurians down, the female reporter rose and nodded in agreement. Chekov continued, “But it looks like they’re all suffering from some kind of neural shock.”

“What would cause it?” the woman asked. “The stress of being attacked?”

As she spoke her male cohort made his way to another patient sitting on a biobed, a pale man with an even paler shock of silvery hair and eyes that made Chekov think of a candle blazing too fiercely. A thread of bright blood crossed the center of the man’s forehead to the bridge of his nose, then curved beneath one eye and down his cheek.

“Probably not,” Chekov answered. “At least, not a mass reaction like this. Perhaps the energy ribbon—”