Chapter Text
The Dreaming interface flashed in front of him, all winding digital hills and creatures of fantasy and nightmare, satellite dishes like pilea plants and vines of tangled cord and star charts spread in the sky above him. Some of the ships, he knew, put on an appearance analogous to the pilot-navigator's culture — The Dreaming had never done so with Morpheus. Only its name, reflected back in Morpheus's language of Galactic English, bothered to conform to any expectations.
> You cannot say my name with your mouth, little one, the ship had said at their first meeting, though you might be able to if you interface successfully.
Today was a simple jump from Astraea Base to Stella Maris, a nearby planet, passing through the Aurora light-stream. They were delivering time-sensitive medical supplies, and as the fastest Fleet ship docked at Astraea, The Dreaming had been chosen.
The door whisked open, and Morpheus turned, partially submerged into The Dreaming and having to blink, setting the interface to the backburner to see who it was.
"I think the ship likes me," Hob Gadling, the ship's Chief Science Officer, commented.
>You let him interrupt us?
>I can read your physiological responses to him, the ship said in response, and his cheeks heated. Your heart rate goes up, your cheeks warm, and you fidget. You cannot spend all your time with me.
>I always want to fidget, Morpheus told the ship. So what if Hob was attractive for a human, richly emotive, and full of vitality and hands Morpheus tried to not imagine elsewhere and — he was getting off topic.
"Something like that," Morpheus grumbled out loud to Hob. He didn't like what both The Dreaming and Hob reminded him of, that he did not have to spend every spare moment wrapped up in the ship. But it was what he was made for. And. The Dreaming was soothing. Except when it played matchmaker. Everyone else wanted something from him, all the time. The Dreaming had never asked him for sex, for example. Well. Neither had Hob, Jessamy, or Lucienne — Captain Bucher — but…
Hob looked fond, somehow, and the ship made a staticky clicking noise of laughter.
>Quit that, Morpheus complained.
"Jessamy and I are going to grab mocktails before we leave," Hob said. "Want to come, or have us bring you something back?"
>Go on, the ship said.
>Dreaming…
>All I can have are hydraulic fluids and fuels, Dreaming complained. Go enjoy a drink. With your friends.
>Fine, Morpheus grumbled, giving up, and not commenting on the playful inflection of friends.
"I'll come," Morpheus said, trying to not sound dour and petulant.
"Did you just lose an argument with the ship?" Hob asked, as Morpheus set aside the interface fully and grabbed his pack.
Morpheus glowered. "There's still time for me to un-lose it."
As soon as he and Hob stepped foot off the ship, Jessamy flung her arm around Morpheus's shoulders, raven-wings flapping behind her.
"Morphy!" she exclaimed, head-feathers brushing against his chin. "I'm glad Hob was convincing."
"Oh, no, I wasn't," Hob said cheerfully, wrapping his arm around Morpheus's opposite shoulder, so that he was nearly carried toward the nearest station pub. "He lost an argument with the ship."
For all his earlier recalcitrance, Morpheus did feel a pleasant buzz at being so thoroughly ensconced between his friends. Growing up, there had not been a lot of touch, only academic lessons and tutors for his gift at linking to ships. While the training made sense — Morpheus had, in effect, been engineered for the gift — it had been lonely. None of the ships he had met cared deeply about him, because he wasn't theirs, he was a passing trainee. Not until The Dreaming in his first year had claimed him as its Navigator.
And meeting Jessamy at Fleet Academy had been. An experience.
****
(Morpheus was — not an open target, he was too valuable to Fleet for anything overt, anything that would permanently hurt him. But people watched marks carefully, the shy ones with their bags clutched tight, the small ones who had no choice but to radiate ferocity as a deterrent, the ones with odd gifts and odder personalities.
Randall Burgess — the son of an ex-Fleet captain, one who had by all accounts been disciplined for abandoning his post and hundreds of civilians, craven and cowardly — and his gang of friends had locked onto Morpheus as a target.
"Hey, odd-eyes," Randall jeered, and Morpheus walked faster.
You'd think people would come up with more original insults. Morpheus had heard that one before. Having gift-marked eyes could be a chore. But bullies were not very original people.
The hiss of a blaster being drawn alarmed him. He broke into a run. If they stunned him, they could take him anywhere without him being able to scream.
A bright blue flash and the rush of air indicating a stunblast whisked past him and he tried to dodge, fell over his own feet, and hit the ground hard. The stunblast arcs hit the wall opposite.
"Fleet doesn't need weaklings like you," Randall yelled, nearly on top of Morpheus by the time he'd gotten his feet remotely under him.
Morpheus bared his teeth, the last ditch effort of a frightened animal, as Randall raised the blaster. Behind the group, Morpheus saw a silent figure with wings darting toward the scene.
"Like your father?" he snapped, and Randall paused.
"I was just going to leave you someplace and scare you, but now you've earned a beating," Randall decided.
An avian shriek split the air, and Randall whirled, his shot missing by a mile as the figure parkoured off the wall and jammed her feet into his chest, wings flaring wide to knock several others over. Randall slammed into the far wall with an oomph.
"You have no idea how long I've been trying to catch you at this," snapped Jessamy Corvin, the third-year cadet who took top scores in their athletics and fitness training despite being on a Communications track. Her raven-dark eyes gleamed in the low-light. She looked like a holy vision and he blinked dumbly.
Several of Randall's friends clearly decided this was not what they had signed up for, and staggered up and ran. Randall raised a shaking hand with the blaster and Jessamy tutted. "Absolutely not," she said, and snatched it out of his grip. "What fourth-year did you have to bribe with Daddy's money to get that?"
"You —" Randall started. "You'll —"
"Spare me. Leave now and I might let you walk off under your own power instead of letting Morpheus stun you."
Morpheus barely managed to not squeak. He'd handled simulator blasters before but they were nothing like the real thing, he'd been told.
Randall glared. "This isn't over." Then he slunk down the corridor.
"Bet that fourth-year isn't going to like you not returning this, though," Jessamy called mockingly after him. Then she extended a taloned hand to Morpheus.
Morpheus flinched back, unsure what to do with the offered hand. His knee throbbed where he'd hit in on the ground, and Jessamy no longer looked like a holy vision, more like a terrifyingly real person, and no one ever offered him a hand.
"I'm not going to hurt you," Jessamy said. "I've been meaning to talk to you anyway."
"Talk?" His voice did come out as a squeak this time, and his body felt warm and strange all over.
She wiggled her hand. "There is a tea shop nearby and I bet you need something after this. Come on," she said.
He finally grasped her hand, full-bodied shudder going through him, and he wanted to let go and be sick and climb into her arms at the same time, and he didn't understand, as she pulled him up, and he grabbed his pack, trembling.
"Come on," she said again, not unkindly, and let go of his hand to start walking, and Morpheus followed her — chasing the warmth.)
****
Once at the pub — The White Horsehead Nebula, where Morpheus and Jessamy had first encountered Hob before reporting to The Dreaming as crew for the first time — they settled into their usual far booth near a spaceport window, where Nella glanced over and yelled, "THE USUAL?"
"Without alcohol, please!" Jessamy yelled back.
Nella grinned, and turned to make their drinks. The android bartender came out to serve them personally, balancing the Carmen Miranda's Ghost, Cosmic Mulberry, and Sputnik precariously.
"You are a study in predictability," Nella told them. "It is always refreshing to observe."
Nella claimed she loved bartending becuase it brought her in such proximity to biologically based life forms. Jessamy and Hob had immediately seen the logic of it years ago, but Morpheus, whose first real friendship had been with a sentient spaceship, did not.
"Predictable! You wound me, Nella," Hob said.
"And yet. I still can't believe you drink that," Jessamy snorted at Hob's Carmen Miranda, tangerine soda and cream liqueur with rounded ice (sans rum). "It's so sweet."
"Says the woman drinking decrepit space dust," Hob retorted as Jessamy took her Sputnik mocktail, all sour cherry and space lime soda and a dry after-sensation.
Jessamy pretended to be hurt. "Space dust? Space dust, Hob? Space dust is what you'll be eating when I eject your immortal ass off the ship."
Morpheus sat serenely with his Cosmic Mulberry, galaxies in his eyes swirling, and sipped it, saying nothing but smiling. The drink nearly matched his eyes, space mulberry and glitterfruit and light crushed ice, even if it didn't have the sparkling red wine.
After a round of small talk, Nella bustled off to talk to someone else — someone quite familiar. Captain Lucienne Bucher had entered the pub, her pointed ears flicking animatedly.
"Quick, I'll hide you under the table," Hob said generously, and Jessamy rolled her eyes.
"We're not drinking-drinking, Hob."
The Captain raised a brow and waved to them.
"Besides," Morpheus said, low voice managing to carry through a lull in conversation, "even if we were, what's she doing at the devil's sacrament?"
Jessamy cackled, and Hob choked on his drink, laughing at the same time, until it came out his nose. "Ow, carbonation!" Hob yelped. "It burns!"
She slapped Hob on the back, and Morpheus reddened as the Captain looked at the trio all the way to the tips of his ears. Lucienne had been a year ahead of Jessamy — three years ahead of Morpheus — in Fleet, on the officer-track, but they'd been friends. She hooked her foot around Morpheus's under the table and leaned into him, grounding him.
Jessamy wished it could always be like this.
****
"Unidentified vessel stopped ahead in the hyperlane!" Morpheus exclaimed, hands flying over the con, he and The Dreaming coming to a halt and swerving out of the hyperlane nearly simultaneously to avoid striking the other vessel.
The ship rocked violently, but took no damage. Through the interface he could tell Dreaming was irritated, but all systems continued to function properly…
"Vessel has exited the hyperlane and followed us," Morpheus reported. His eyes — normally swirling with galaxies — glowed with unnatural color, the ship's interface lighting him from within. Jessamy tore her own away and glanced at the captain.
"On screen," Captain Bucher said, voice clipped. Morpheus hit a button, and the front window displayed a strange vessel. Jessamy had never seen anything like it before. Unlike The Dreaming's streamlined shape, this one was chunky and almost patched together…
"Open a hailing frequency, Lieutenant Corvin," Captain Bucher ordered.
"Hailing frequency open, all channels," Jessamy said, hands skipping over the communications console.
"Unidentified vessel, this is United Fleet Ship The Dreaming, on humanitarian mission. Let us pass," Captain Bucher said levelly.
"No response," Jessamy said, after a few moments of silence.
"Captain, they are powering forward torpedoes," Morpheus warned.
"Sound red alert — Nav, evasive maneuvers! Helm, arm torpedo bays."
Jessamy activated the battle station alert; The Dreaming was already dropping and tilting to the side, then with a burst of power flew almost directly under the other ship to come out the other side. The sudden change in acceleration pinned Jessamy to her seat.
"I'm getting strange energy readings off the other vessel!" Hob called. "They are unknown, Captain, not in any current databases."
Jessamy switched open all frequencies . "Hailing unknown vessel. This is UFSS The Dreaming, please respond."
"They're distorting our sensors!" Hob said. "Some kind of warpifying effect."
Silence continued to meet Jessamy from the comms. "No response to our hail, Captain."
"And it is getting stronger," Morpheus said. "Recommend putting distance between us, Captain."
Before the captain could respond, a powerful pulse of energy smashed into The Dreaming. Alarms blared at once; the ship tumbled, and Jessamy nearly fell out of her chair, harness straps straining.
"Captain! Nav off-line, we are being pushed into the Aurora photon-stream!"
A dazzling burst of light filled the flight deck and the ship rolled into a dizzying spin. This time the harness straps failed, sending Jessamy tumbling to the deck, wing flaring with pain. The sound of screams and shouts mixed into the shrieking alarms. The smell of smoke filled her nostrils and Rachel — one of the navigators — thudded to the floor beside her, unconscious or dead, blood streaming from her nose. Jessamy rolled over her, smashing her arm into a chair as the ship continued to roll, and then a firm hand grabbed hers and reeled her in, holding her in place until at last the ship's momentum slowed.
Her arm and left wing screamed with pain, but she seemed to have gotten off lightly. She looked into Hob Gadling's starkly-pale face, and he didn't let go of her, not even when they saw the carnage of the navigators' section.
Among the dead and unconscious bodies Morpheus stood, swaying with a bloody face, lips moving. Jessamy couldn't hear over the ringing in her ears, and then he sagged, falling unconscious (she hoped) to the ground as well, next to the other limp navigators. There was blood smeared on the consoles. The scent of smoke rose from sparking wires and shattered displays and, more nauseatingly, — she swallowed bile — the scent of burnt flesh. Jessamy focused on her own throbbing pain, arm almost certainly broken and one wing injured — she couldn't see behind herself to check — to distract from the horrible smell.
"What just happened?" she finally asked.
"I," Hob breathed, eyes wide, "have no idea."
"Morpheus," she called. "Morpheus!"
"I'll check on him, you keep sitting holding onto something," Hob said, and she bit her lip and nodded.
Hob helped Jessamy sit properly on the floor, and then unbuckled his harness and scrambled over to Morpheus.
Morpheus opened his eyes to splitting pain, unable to see any of the other navigators. The Dreaming screamed in Morpheus's head, a shrill klaxon that failed to translate, radiating pain. The interface flashed in dizzying colors, nauseating him. He couldn't exit the console, couldn't backburner the interface, and covered his ears instead. Something wet ran down his face. Blinking slowly, he removed a hand from his ear to touch it, and his fingers came away scarlet tinged with silver stardust.
"Dreaming… y-you have… to l-let… go," Morpheus whispered out loud, each word laborious, his head exploding in light. "You're h-hurting me..." As though speaking to a child not knowing its own strength. "And you're screaming. I hear you…"
The screaming abated, and the interface and console disengaged, and Dream staggered back, unable to keep his balance.
>My dreamer, the ship cried out.
>I hear you, Morpheus managed, and then his back collided with the hard deck of the ship, and everything went dark.
****
Morpheus blinked, everything white and bright and utterly searing his eyes. A soft hum filled his ears, followed by an undulating rhythm, a song off-beat and jagged around the edges.
>My dreamer?
>Dreaming… Morpheus tried to sit up, and several chiming bells went off. His head ached, throbbing out of sync with the ship's hum. What's happened? There had been lights, and electrical hissing, and screaming, the ship full of pain…
>There were enemy ships. They damaged my structures and forced us into the Aurora. You are hurt, Morpheus.
>Now you're using my actual name. How… bad?
>We lost half of A-deck. Most of the navigators are gone. You — Morpheus, you —
>What?
>I thought I had lost another.
>Not yet, Dreaming.
"Lieutenant Aeternus. You're awake," a flat voice said nearby. Chief Medical Officer of The Dreaming Johanna Constantine's gaze drifted upward, eyes flicking over the display screen that Morpheus couldn't see.
"Yes," Morpheus finally said. "We were attacked?"
"And you came this clos e to having a proper hemorrhagic stroke," Constantine said, drawing her fingers together. "Transient ischemic attack. The ship wouldn't let you go." She glared in no direction in particular, but likely aimed at The Dreaming.
>I tried, said The Dreaming.
"Not Dreaming's fault," Morpheus snapped. He'd felt the ship's pain.
"Seeing as the other navigators are all dead or comatose," Constantine said, voice pure acid, but did not continue.
Morpheus strained his thoughts, and then remembered Constantine's ex-girlfriend the navigator —
>Yes. Rachel Moodie is comatose.
>What about Hob and Jessamy? Luci — the Captain?
>Hob and Captain Bucher are hale and whole. Jessamy fractured an arm and wing, but will recover.
>Assuming we can get home.
>Yes.
"You, stay in bed. The nanobots are almost done," Constantine ordered. "And stop talking to the bloody ship, you're making it take longer."
As if. Constantine swept out of the berth, long coat nearly catching in the automatic door.
>What are their plans for getting us home? Dream carefully prodded at the node pressed against his skin.
>Once they repair the engines and the hull sections they hope to find a way to navigate me.
>They won't manage it, will they?
>No. I require the navigators to fly.
>Can you give me audio of their conversation?
"Dr. Constantine, what is Lieutenant Aeternus' and the other navigators' status?" Captain Bucher asked.
Hob blanched. Morpheus's face had been bloody, body shaking, and when The Dreaming had let him go… Well, the sight and sound of him hitting the deck gracelessly, boneless as a sack of wet gelatin, replayed in Hob's mind. He winced.
"Lieutenant Aeternus is awake but in no fit condition to even leave his bed," Constantine snapped, the CMO's holographic projection crossing her arms. Circles under her eyes said how exhausted she was, with soot smeared on her clothes and forehead. "He suffered a transient ischemic attack. Any attempt to link into the navigation might cause stroke and death — even if we had the other navigators. Most of the ones still with a pulse have no brain wave activity."
The Captain nodded slowly. "Table Lieutenant Aeternus as a possibility for now, then. Engineering, report on engine status and ship systems…"
Voices crackled in from all over the ship.
"Engines off-line, the nacelles repairing, but energy is low."
"The navigator system is running haywire and likely needs a full reprogramming and repair."
"A-Deck hull rupture sealed, but we're losing life support systems including breathable air and we're trying to rig a fix but it's slow-going."
(>I have a plan, Morpheus said.)
"Suggestions for getting us home, Mr. Gadling," Captain Bucher ordered.
Hob scrubbed at his face, seated in the ready room. "We could take volunteers — link them to the ship."
"They are not trained nor do they have the gift," Jessamy argued, twitching her good wing. "They would burn out in minutes."
"We have several immortal crewmembers," Hob argued, though he felt a little sick at the suggestion. "Myself among them."
(>You are asking me to let you die, The Dreaming said.
>Yes. Dreaming, we have the power to save all of them.
>I will not let you, the ship said. You are my only dreamer.
>I am yours, Morpheus agreed. And this way I become part of you. We save the other crew. You care for them also. I love Hob and Jessamy. I — care for the others, but I love them. Every other solution will — kill so many people.
>This is never how I wanted you to admit you love both of them, the ship said.)
With a startling shudder, the ship's systems fully rebooted, engines spooling. "What the — Dreaming! What are you doing?" Hob shouted.
The ship's lights flicked on and off in rapid acknowledgement, and the whine of its engines sounded somehow like sorrow.
"Dreaming!" Captain Bucher ordered. "Cease this at once — Engine room, report —"
"Aeternus has disappeared from his bed," Constantine yelled over the comms.
"Morpheus," said Jessamy. "It's Morpheus."