The Haunting

[ghiaman74 0]

The Haunting

By Ghiaman74

 

 

It was dark. No light or console even attempted to resist the darkness. Power to the corridor had been severed. Even the crimson strips that should have been glowing under the red alert had gone dead.

 

Debris littered the corridor. Cables and wires burst out of the bulkheads and hung down from the ceiling. The smooth panels that had once concealed them were now a mangled mass of metal strewn across the deck.

 

It was dark, but Jean Luc’s eyes had adjusted. The horrific sight of his injured Enterprise was a stark contrast to the only dim source of light, the strikingly beautiful starscape pouring in from the massive gash in the ship’s hull.

 

The thick wall of duranium , the precious shell that protected the delicate interior of the ship had been stripped away. Now nothing stood between Picard and the great void. Nothing, as he stood there aghast at the damage and in awe of the stars.

 

The stars did not twinkle in space. Without the interference of a planet’s atmosphere they stared back at Picard like a billion unblinking eyes. They bored into his soul angrily searching for an answer.

 

“Are you worthy of this?” The stars demanded. Jean Luc could almost here them.

 

It was dark, but still a shadow fell across the captain in what dim light there was. An object crossed his line of sight, eclipsing billions of far away suns. It was a man. He wore a Starfleet uniform and floated only feet away in the dead of space.

 

Jean Luc studied the man’s face. It was young, far younger than the captain could remember being. His eyes were open staring back, unblinking. A solitary gold pip was affixed to the man’s collar. He was an ensign once, one of Picard’s junior officers with bright hopes and endless potential. Once, but no longer. The man had reached the end of his potential, and his hopes had gone dark.

 

The cold of space set in. With the pressure of artificial atmosphere gone the water in the Ensign’s body began to vaporize. His blood began to boil and burst out of his skin, freezing in little droplets as it did. His eyes began to bulge, looking through the furious red mist of frozen blood at Picard. The Ensign’s stare boring into the Captain deeper, deeper, deeper…

 

“Are you worthy of this?” The Ensign’s eyes burst. Two steams of a frozen crimson fog flowed from the now hollow sockets. Its momentum carried the mist forward. It felt chilly as it brushed by Picard’s face.

 

“I can feel it.” Picard thought. “No consoles, no lights, no power!” The realization came to his mind. “No power, no force field, no air!” He now felt the pressure on this throat, and his chest. He tried to inhale deeply, but no air came. He turned, he scrambled for the turbolift door, but his feet left the ground.

 

“No gravity!” He flailed about, but there was nothing to push off, nothing to grab, nothing…

 

Jean Luc was in another room. It was dark, but not like the last one. There was power, there was air. The lights were not on, but the consoles flickered on and off, small fires flickered underneath some of the consoles filling the air with the punjant smell of burnt insolation, and a pulsating light of blue and red came from one end of the room in a column. “The warp core!”

 

“Where are we?” A voice came, it was familiar. It was slightly nasal, and even more accusing.

 

“Main Engineering.” Picard answered. He looked back and forth, and behind him. No one…

 

“Who’s there?” Picard called.

 

There was a brilliant explosion of light that made the Captain squint and turn away. It was gone as quick as it had come. In its place was a man holding an old style oil lantern.

 

It took a moment for Picard’s eyes to readjust. “Q!” He yelled when the form came into focus. “Why have you brought me here?”

 

“O contraire Mon Capitan.” Q replied, bringing the lantern closer to his face, letting the light from the flame eerily dance across it. “You brought me here.”

 

“I did not! This is a dream, a Nightmare!” Picard spat his words at the smug entity. He then became more somber, he knew what would come next, what should come next. “This is my nightmare, but you’re not in it.”

 

“I am tonight Jean Luc, but strictly as an observer.” Q explained as he sauntered about the scene, talking in the wreckage. “I’m giving you a gift. I’ve made this dream more than the fleeting feeling of guilt that overcomes you when you wake. I’ve given it life. You’ll finally be able to answer their question.”

 

“What question?” Picard wondered how much Q knew.

 

Then Q was very close, his lips to Picard’s ear. “Are you worthy of this?”

 

The room rocked and both turned to see a Starfleet Engineer stumble pass them to a console. The engineer worked furiously, attempting to mend some unknown wound in the ship.

 

Without warning the console exploded. The resulting force tossed the man across the room. He landed hard on the deck, engulfed in flames. Picard ran to him, but could do nothing, the fire burned too hot. It lit up the room as it consumed the Engineer’s flesh. The man writhed in pain. His anguished screams the only thing more powerful than the brilliant flames. With a final shriek the cries ended, and the engineer ceased moving. The fire continued not missing a single bit of unconsumed tissue. It began to grow dimmer, dimmer, dimmer, gone. All that was left was the charred black form of a man and the stench of burnt hair and flesh.

 

Picard stepped closer, he looked and felt ashamed. Something caught his eye; he bent over and peered closer. The charred body’s hands shot upward and caught Picard by the neck. The Captain struggled, but could not wrestle free. The corpse pulled himself closer until his face was no more than an inch from Picard’s.

 

It was dark. The face was pitch black. It opened its eyes, the white surrounding the irises seemed to jump out at Picard, and the flickering light of Engineering danced in the pupils. Down, down, down, Jean Luc could feel the man staring into his heart. “Are you worthy of this?”

 

Picard let out a stifled yell as he pushed away from the corpse with all his might. The charred man fell back into a chair. Picard backed away. He fell over a desk, and landed on his back.

 

There was no warp core. There were no flickering consoles. There were no electrical fires. It was dark, but it was his ready room. The only illumination came from his desk console and the replicator. Other than the lack of light and the limp burnt engineer in his chair. The room was in pristine condition. No damage. No mangled metal. No exposed cable. But still no peace. The eyes of the corpse stared at the Captain, unblinking.

 

Picard stood and hurried out of his ready room. He burst out of the door onto the bridge, his heart pounding in his chest. The bridge looked normal, except the captain’s chair was backwards, and it was dark.

 

“Why are we here Jean Luc?” Q asked, lounging in the executive officer’s chair.

 

Picard gestured toward his ready room. “The burned Engineer, he was in my chair.”

 

“Who was he?” Q was inspecting his fingernails as if he was uninterested in his own question.

 

“Lieutenant Lindqvist, he died in a fire years ago.” Picard’s voice shook as he spoke.

 

“Why don’t you sit down?” Q suggested. “You really look like you need to take a load off as they say.”

 

Picard walked to his backwards chair. He reached out and turned it around. He reeled back. He found himself leaning against the helmsman’s chair, and staring at the Ensign he had seen floating outside the corridor. The hollow eye sockets stared at him, unblinking.

 

“Why are you doing this Q?” Picard chocked out the words.

 

“Q stood up and strolled across the bridge until he was standing next to the Captain. “I’m not doing anything to you Jean Luc. You do this to yourself, night after night after night.” Q sighed. “So who is this one?”

 

“Ensign Coleman, he was sucked out of a hull breach. He died in the vacuum of space.”

 

“And it always ends this way?” Q asked. “With you cowering from the sight of a dead crewman in your chair?”

 

“End, yes, but it begins differently. I could be watching Ensign Sato, Ensign Donovan, Lieutenant Hawk, anyone that has died under my command. But in the end, they are always in my chair.” Picard’s voice trailed off.

 

“You’re right Jean Luc, they’re always in that chair. Whether you’re asleep or not.” Q whispered into Picard’s ear. “Now answer their question, are you worthy of this?”

 

“Of being Captain? Of sitting in that chair?” Picard looked at the ground and thought. “I don’t know…”

 

“That’s your answer? That’s what you’re going to tell the men that died for you?” Q demanded. “What do you have to say to them?”

 

Picard looked straight at the dead Ensign in his chair. “Thank you.”

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