Losing Yourself

Posted on Tue Sep 17th, 2019 @ 9:31am by Lieutenant Commander Mnhei'sahe Dox
Edited on on Tue Sep 17th, 2019 @ 9:34am

Mission: Family Detention
Location: The People's Will
Timeline: 2396

Nights were the worst. During the day, her Grandmother, Senator Verelan t'Rul, had been keeping her busy with lectures and lessons all designed to remold Lieutenant Mnhei’sahe Dox of the U.S.S Hera into a loyal daughter of ch’Rihan. During the day she could easily escape her fears and thoughts in the plethora of information pushed at her. It was easy to forget she was a prisoner. Her grandmother had changed from a tone of confrontational aggression to one of calm understanding and warm acceptance. She had changed from captor to grandmother. She told her granddaughter all about her home and the family she never knew existed. But now Mnhei'sahe was being conditioned and she knew it.

But at night, in the mid-sized quarters on the D’deridex class Warbird that was her prison as they warped her back to the world the galaxy called Romulus, she was utterly alone with her own thoughts. And that’s when her mind began to seek out doubt. Seek out ways to question herself. Blame herself.

Blame was easy. She was playing a balancing act. A dangerous game between maintaining who she was, Lieutenant Mnhei’sahe Dox of the U.S.S. Hera, with who her grandmother wanted her to be, Mnehi’sahe t’Rul: loyal daughter of ch’Rihan.

And she was losing.

Her Grandmother had begun filling her mind with warm stories and information on Rihannsu culture. She spoke only Rihan. Listened to only Rihan. Learned libraries of information about her people and the world she had never seen. She was trying to hold on to who she was under the assault of who she could be, but she was failing and she knew it.

The room was a gilded cage at best. Locked and guarded, the lights shut down on a timer when it was time to sleep and snapped back on when it was time to wake. And she did what she was told to protect her captive mother from harm. Her Grandmother assured her that her mother had not yet been tortured. She had not been harmed or interrogated. But Dox knew that that status quo was fully dependent on her compliance. So she complied.

But when she was told to study, she found that she now did so willingly. And she hated herself for enjoying it. She enjoyed learning what she had always been denied. And as the days began to blur together, she stopped resenting that she had to eat when they told her, slept when they told her and wear what they told her. She was beginning to accept it and here, in the dark of night, she reminded herself how dangerous that was.

The lights were out and she was expected to sleep. She had changed into the night clothes that were left for her. A simple thin linen grey top and pants. She had laid flat on the small bed provided along the starboard bulkhead of the room. And as she did, like she did every night, she meditated silently. In meditation, she strove to remind herself of who she was. Remind herself of what she needed to return to. Her real home on the Hera. Her chosen family there.

But every night, it became more difficult to concentrate. Her thoughts, once a mishmash of English and rihan, were now only rihan. Her ideas of home becoming blurred. Her sense of self wavering. So she closed her eyes and repeated the lessons in mental discipline she had been being trained on for months by her Trensu, Lieutenant Sonak. Her master in her attempts to train her mind and mental potential in the Vulcan way of her ancestors to restore some measure of those long lost abilities. Redoubling her efforts to remain herself in the wake of her failures, she pictured, in her mind's eye, the lavender swirl of energy that was her gift from her bond-mate, Mona Gonadie. The combination of their mutual life forces made one. And she concentrated.

As she lay there, pretending to sleep, she would see the steps of Mount Salaya on Vulcan. And while she had never been there, Sonak had recreated it for her on the holodeck in perfect detail and enhanced the experience through mind melds. For her, it was real. She could feel the heat of the Vulcan sun and taste the harsh, arid air. And her knees weakened as she climbed the steps, calling out the names that reminded her of who she was.

She didn’t dare say them out loud knowing her room was likely being monitored, but her mind was the only place that her Romulan captors couldn’t control her. So she climbed, straining against what felt like an impossible weight as she gasped against the blistering heat.

“Mona Gonadie… Rita Paris… Asa Dael… Enalia Telvan… Thex sh'Zoarhi… Fiona O’Dell… Briaar Gavarus… Sam… Sam…” She paused on the names as she stumbled to her knees on the hard stone steps in her mind. “Clemens. Sam Clemens…”

As it had always been, though the experience was in her mind, she could feel the hard, hot stone cut into her knees as she fell as if it were the real thing. In her quarters on the Warbird, she visibly winced ever so slightly. Forcing herself back to her feet, she felt her mind slipping. The air became thinner and the sun hotter. “Masato Rei… Ila Dedjoy... S’Rina Wil’I’Ams… V’Nus Wil’I’Ams… Ethel Jablonski… Maica… Moira... Milla and Mardo Morafry… ”

The names evoked faces in her mind. Images of her friends, new family and loved ones that seemed always just a few steps ahead of her, ascending. In the Vulcan of her mind, the heat was real as beads of sweat appeared on her brow in the real reality of the Warbird. In the Vulcan of her mind, the wind blew hot as she pushed forward. Each step aiding her in remembering. Each step forward bringing her closer to Dox and further from t’Rul. As she walked, different names filled her mind and she said them on those sand-swepped steps.

“Tala…”

“Amihan…”

“Hlai'vana!”

The names evoked no faces for they were the names chosen for the three young girls growing in her Wife's belly a system away. The names chosen for their daughters. The ones she MUST remember. The ones she could not abandon for a child’s fantasy.

And after what seemed like an eternity in her mind, she reached the platform at the top of the mythical version of the impossibly tall mountain that existed in her mind. Exhausted, she looked up past the pale yellow skies of Vulcan to the stars she needed to return to. To the Hera, which seemed to form above her in her mind as if she could reach out and touch it.

But as she began to rest in her success, she felt herself growing weak. As she stuttered and struggled, in the real world, it was not her mind but her body that was betraying her. The days were long and arduous and pretending to sleep soon gave way to the real thing as exhaustion got the better of her and her meditation was broken for the yawning abyss of dreams.

And as the image of Mount Selaya faded into darkness, so did she. And as she faded into dreams, it was not her conscious mind that betrayed her, but those child’s fantasies.

---------------

The house was a modest, two-story farmhouse in rural Ohio. The parcel of land that it sat on was mostly bare with a small gray barn behind the pale yellow home. It was early August and the trees were green as fireflies began dotting the darkening horizon and night fell over the rolling hills. It was an idyllic and serene scene to be sure, and the nineteen-year-old Melanie Dox hated it.

“Mellie, dinner’s ready. Come wash up.” Came a melodic voice from in the house as, out in the barn, the young woman groaned as she pulled herself out from underneath the matte silver hoverbike she had been tuning the engine on.

“Hnaev... “ she muttered, cursing under her breath in the language she was discouraged from speaking at the inane school she had just graduated. Her native language of Rihan was less than popular on Earth. Sitting up and pushing herself to her feet, Dox was a thickly built young woman with a large shock of curly red hair up in a bun on the top of her head. She was wearing thick yellow work gloves that were covered in grease and a pair of grease-covered overalls with a plaid shirt.

The barn had long ago ceased being used in any capacity that ever resembled agriculture and over the past four years, had become the young women's refuge and workshop. Strewn about were all manner of engine parts and tools. And in the corner, hanging from a crossbeam was an extremely worn old heavy bag held together with mostly duct tape and hope.

“I will be right there!” She called back in to the house as she pulled the gloves off and tossed then on the dropcloth beneath her bike. When she yelled, it was much easier to hear the thick accent she had spent the past four years trying to learn to conceal. But it was still there, regardless of volume. Yet another reminder of the heritage she was taught to be ashamed of by most of the local people that didn’t accept her.

But they never seemed to care, within the house. Shawn and Juliet Dox. The parents of Declan Dox. The loving couple that took in an angry, sixteen-year-old they believed to be the granddaughter they didn’t even know existed. And while they would be long gone by the time that the young Rihannsu woman would learn that they were not, in fact related to her, for the time they were her family. And she resented them for their unconditional love. Her mother spent years fostering a cultural distrust of humans, and that had born fruit that now confused the girl that still believed she was half-human, faced with people that made everything her mother said a lie. So she resented them for it, and that resentment only made her more angry at herself and more withdrawn.

Slouching like an almost-typical teenage girl, Dox walked in through the screen door from the back porch. Like the house, it was functionally antique and irritated the young woman raised on a space freighter. And compared to the Dox farmhouse, the rusting smuggling ship, the Forager suddenly seemed state of the art. She walked over to the large metal sink in the kitchen and began washing her hands. As she did, the elderly Juliet Dox walked in from the living room.

She was a short, plump human woman with thick corrective lenses and a bun of gray hair with red streaks through it, wearing a large yellow apron with cartoon chicks on it that seemed somehow familiar in the memory of the moment. “How’s it coming out there, Mellie? Did you get that thing running again?”

“Ie... “ Dox replied, first in Rihan before correcting herself. “Yes. The engine had a blockage but I cleaned out the plasma injectors and…” She was going on in details that the smiling older woman didn’t even half understand. “Yes. She runs again.”

While her mother taught her federation standard, Vulcan, and even Klingon, Rihan was her natural language and she had only been speaking english full time for a few years and she didn't speak much. Silence was her preferred way of dealing with those around her. Her diction was still a bit stilted and her muddy, spacers accent was still prominent as she worked at improving her command of the language with time and practice.

“Oh, that’s lovely, dear. I may hate how you drive that thing, but I know you love it. C’mon, I made beef stroganoff. Your grandpa is upstairs napping. Could you go fetch him, Mellie, dear?”

Rolling her eyes, Dox ran a finger over her ear as she sighed. “Ie, grandmother.”

Walking upstairs, she passed a series of old photographs of the Dox’s when they were young. And aside from the familiar red hair that the old Scottish family shared, she saw no resemblance when she looked at the images of her adopted grandparents or the childhood pictures of the man she still believed to be her father.

At the top of the stairs, it was dark but she didn’t bother with the lights. She was accustomed to the dark corridors of the Forager and didn’t want to wake up Shawn Dox harshly. He hadn’t been well of late.

Pushing the bedroom door open, it creaked lightly on old hinges. From within she heard raspy breathing and spoke softly, “Grandfather. It’s time for dinner.”

There was a brief pause before he chuckled his reply from bed. “Heh. I’ll be right down Melanie. Tell your grandmother I don’t need a nursemaid.” Sitting up and turning on the ancient-looking lamp by the side of the bed, Shawn Dox looked older every day. But he smiled and kept up his spirits and tried to keep up Melanie’s.

"I heard you working out in the barn. Sounds like you got her purring like a kitten." Shawn said with a smile as he slowly rose to his feet, still dressed in the old blue jeans and gray t-shirt he took to napping in. He was something of a grease monkey himself and enjoyed working on projects with his granddaughter when he felt better.

"Ie, Grandfather. The plasma injectors were clogged. It was not a… significant problem, thankfully." Dox replied with a smile. When they worked together she too enjoyed it in spite of herself. "Let me help you."

Gently, she took his arm and led him downstairs. She found that she often resented that she cared about him, but she did care and didn't want to disappoint him. Of all the people she had met since being left on Earth, they were the only two that never batted a eye at her Rihannsu heritage. Never chastised her for her accent or language. Never judged her.

It made her feel all the worse for what had been going through her mind of late.

At the old, wooden farm table with generations worth of wear and old food stains, Dox assisted Juilet in setting the table. It was a simple enough chore when compared to the near-military upbringing with her mother, and in spite of herself, and she liked helping when she could.

While she was resentful of their affections, deep down she didn't want to see her grandparents unhappy. So she tried her level best to be as good of a granddaughter that she could be. She didn't always succeed and her near-constant anger often got the best of her. But she was raised to be honorable and did her best to return the honor they showed her.

Slowly, she spooned her way through the stew, lost in thought and quieter than usual as Juliet spoke. She had a soft, sing song tone to her and smiled lightly as she did. "So, Mellie. I was at the library today and that nice man from Starfleet was there. They were talking to students from your school. You remember when he talked with us last year?"

Shrugging, Dox sighed and muttered. "Ie… Yes, I remember."

She continued playing with her food, trying to avoid the topic. The man in question was a retired Commander with Starfleet. A recruiter who had made a presentation to students with grades past a certain point. And Dox's grades far exceeded even that, singling her out for attention she didn't want.

"Jules… drop it, dear." Shawn tried to interject, but she shushed him and kept going.

"Well, he remembered me and was asking about you and he said that it was never too late to start thinking about a career. And with your test scores, he could… what did I say he said, dear? Fast track? Yes, fast track you in. He even said he'd sponsor your application, Mellie dear."Juliet smiled, showing just a bit of nerves as she did.

Dropping her head, Dox took a sip of her water and tried to pretend she didn't hear for a moment until the silence began to feel too heavy. "I don't… I'm not going to Starfleet, Grandmother. That's… not for me."

Trying to react calmly, Shawn and Juliet seemed legitimately surprised, expecting a blow up. "O… okay, Mellie. Have you… looked at those brochures for that flight school I picked…"

As she spoke, Shawn wearily cut her off. "Jules, honey. Stop pestering the girl."

"No, I haven't!" Dox said a bit more predictably forcefully. "I don't need a school to tell be how to fly. I don't need some…" she was about to say 'human' but cut herself off and changed course. "I know how to fly. I probably know more than those so-called teachers. When they can lose two Klingon birds of prey in an ion storm, then they can tell me how to fly!"

"I… I'm sorry, Mellie. I'm just trying to…" Juliet stammered, nervously. "I just want to see you happy doing what you love and you love flying, dear."

Blushing the sickly brown color brought on by her genetically damaged blood, Dox tried to contain her anger. She wasn't angry at her grandmother and she knew it. She was just angry at life, like she usually was. "Ahr'usae… I… I'm sorry. I'm just… may I be excused?"

She sat, ashamed of her outburst. Ashamed of making her grandmother feel bad for caring. Ashamed of being who she was. Her face was flush brown and her hands were trembling slightly.

Juliet looked at her husband with a resigned expression, not knowing what to say. "You don't have to, but you can, hon." Shawn interjected, nodding his head softly.

Frustrated and angry at herself, Dox stood up, nodded and cleaned off her plate in the recycler and all but warped through the kitchen upstairs. Moments later she had slammed shut the old wooden door to her room to cry and curse herself. She flumped to the floor, her back against the door wiping her face dry as she heard a wheezing voice slowly climb the steps, eventually stopping at her door.

"Melanie, can I talk to you for a minute?" Came the weak voice of her grandfather who knew her a bit better than she would like. After a moment of silence, he continued.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes, hon." He said with his familiar chuckle. "Look, Mel. I know you don't like it here. And I can't pretend to know how different this must be from the life you use't know. But… but we're glad you’re here."

Sniffling behind the door, Dox rolled her eyes silently as he spoke, pretending even to herself not to care as he continued.

"Your dad. He… he never liked it here neither. He left when he was younger than you are now, after getting into every kind of trouble there is to get into. A lot like you, except he wasn't ever a bit as smart and he always got caught. But other than that, you're not anything like him. He never cared about anyone else. Never thought about anyone else. And I know it's a… a horrible thing to say about your own son, but I'm glad you're not like him, Mel."

"But you do have that same wanderlust, and maybe you get that from your mother. I don't know. But it could take you big places if you let it, hon." Shawn kept talking, hoping she was listening.

"Your Grandmother and I… when you came into our world, it was like a miracle. A chance to make up for how bad we failed your dad. And we're doing our best, but sometimes it's hard for us too. Your grandma, she means well. She pushes and pries because she wants to see you happy, is all. Please don't punish her for caring about you. We both do, Mel." His words brought the tears out in force as Dox failed to contain her shame and gulit for her behavior.

"Look… just think about it, okay. We… we love you and we just want you to be happy, with whatever it is you decide to do with your life. We know that you'll go far, hon." He finished, placing a hand on the other side of the door for a moment before slowly walking away as Melanie Dox silently cried.

Hours later, when the elderly couple went to bed, Dox leaned out the small window to the bedroom that was hers, her cheeks drier and her mind racing. The walls were covered with blueprints and technical specs for starships. The small model of the D’deridex class Warbird sat on a high shelf collecting dust and cobwebs. Outside the window, was home.

Looking up at the stars, Dox sighed. It had been four long years since Starfleet had unceremoniously left her with the Dox’s. Four long years since she had been out there. Instead, she was stuck on Earth. She hated earth. With its dull greens and flat lands and stupid people.

She wanted to go home. On the cluttered desk behind her was an application to Starfleet academy. It was Starfleet that saved her from being stuck on the Forager as a smuggler and never pressed charges. Starfleet that encouraged her to join their ranks as she completed so-called ‘high-School’. But the academy would be another four years on the mudball she hated surrounded by people that hated her.

And there were other options out there. Options she had been considering for months now.

A half an hour later she was skirting the treetops on the back of her silver hoverbike towards a spaceport in Cleveland. She was pushing the line past 300kph and didn't think twice, bobbing and weaving through the stray branches with ease. By staying close to the treelines, she was avoiding the ridiculous local authorities that were stupid and bored with the pacified population of humanity she was so sick of. So she raced towards another choice, a single duffle bag strapped to her back.

A short time later, the young red-headed woman with the rounded ears and the sickly brown blood that felt neither human nor Rihannsu had parked her bike in the park nearest the spaceport and began walking towards her escape. It was a small port-town bar she had frequented thanks to a false identification she had fabricated a couple of years ago. A rowdy dive that reminded her of the spaceport stations she used to stop at with her mother when it was time to refuel or restock the Forager. It was dirty, dark and filled with dangerous people who liked to avoid authority and get into fights. Dox loved it.

It was the kind of place to get into trouble, or at least find it. And Melanie Dox certainly liked getting into trouble. She felt alive when she was breaking the slow, stupid rules and sticking her feet back into the world she grew up in. Covering up bruises had become second nature, but came with the territory and she could forget about her stress and her responsibilities and let out the seemingly endless anger she had inside when she was there and she liked that.

“DOXXIE!? What the hell are you doin’ here, kiddo?” She heard, yelled out from behind by a burly, gray, wild furred Caitian man with an artificial eye. A smuggler and trader that she had known since she was twelve.

Smiling, she replied in her native tongue, not worried as he knew the language well enough due to his business dealings to understand. “Captain Frees! I've missed you! How have you been?”

As she spoke, about half the bar turned curiously, wondering just who was shouting across the room in Romulan.

As Captain Rankin Frees walked over to the young red-head, he turned and hissed to the bar in common. “Mind your damn businesses, you drunk asses. It’s just Doxxie.” Then turned to give the girl a hug, continuing in the planet’s language to keep her using it and not invite trouble. “It’s been months since I’ve seen your ugly, hairless mug, Girl. Need another crate of Kali-Fal to sell to the townies?”

“No. Not anymore, Captain. I am… I am planning on getting out of there. For good, this time.” She looked up with a forced smile, answering him in federation standard. “I did what they all wanted. I finished that kreldanni school and now they want me to go join STARFLEET if you can imagine. Me, in one of those ridiculous uniforms. A Rihannsu!?”

Looking the girl up and down, incredulously, the Caitian took a seat at a nearby open table with two chairs and a smirk. “And that’s a BAD thing, Doxxie? I thought you wanted back in space. I hear tell that’s where Starfleet tends to work. I mean, it’s right in the name, after all.”

“Be serious, Captain. I am not cut out for Starfleet. That is not for me. More annoying hevam and their inane rules and… It is not for me." The irritated red-headed Rihanna girl said, leaning heavy on the Rihan slur for 'human'. "I barely made it through that Fvadt school without killing anyone, and Al’thindor knows I wanted to near every day.” Dox commented through her still thick accent as she shrugged and flagged down the bartender with two fingers. She had been there enough for him to know what she wanted.

Moments later, he sat down a double shot of Kali-Fal. The light blue alcohol known as ‘Romulan Ale’ that she had been drinking for years regardless of her age. Frees rolled his eyes and he hunched forward.

“And is that what you're here for, tonight, Doxxie? You planning on running away and joining my little crew of smugglers? Getting off the rock and back into the life? Because you were so happy doing that the first time?” It was a sarcastic reply from the feline pirate as Dox took a drink.

“Dhat...No. You… you know what I did to get away from her and that life. Imirrhlhhse… you are the only person who really knows. But I do need... a ride.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a small card.

“I can pay for transport. I… put aside a small percentage from every mission Mother ran since I was eleven. It’s not a lot, but it should be enough to book me passage to…” Dox paused, holding the card out, as her hand shook slightly. Her speech was getting a bit smoother as she continued, getting more comfortable with the language the less she actively thought about it.

The cagey cat looked askew at her as he purred slightly. “Why don't I like that look on your face, girl?"

“Ch’Rihan. Romulus. You make smuggling runs there five times a year. You’ve got a cloak. You could drop me off anywhere. Just… as long as it’s there” Dox replied

“Wow. Big decision. Round eared Romulan girl wants to go home. You think that’s what you really want, Doxxie? You think Starfleet has rules? Your people make those rules look like summer camp.” Frees said flatly.

“Just because I don’t… because I look like this doesn’t make me ANY less Rihannsu! Why shouldn’t I get to go home!? My mother was a liar! The Tal’Shiar won’t care. I can go there and I’m a fvadt good pilot. I could join the Rihannsu academy. Be a pilot there! What’s so wrong with going home?” Dox yelled angrily.

“Nothing wrong with goin’ home, Doxxie. I think it’s what you need to do tonight, matter of fact.” Frees sighed and sat back, scratching a mangey spot on his neck.

“Then here! When do we go? What do I need to do?” Dox smiled as she put her card on the table in front of him, missing his meaning entirely. But he never even looked at it as he pushed it slowly back to the young woman.

“You need to go home t’ your grandparents and think about your future, kid.” He sighed. “I like you. And truth be told, if you actually came here and said you really wanted to join my crew, I’d be all kinds of tempted, Doxxie. But you don’t know what you’re asking me to do. You don’t know what you’re wanting to go to.”

“Arhem ssuajukhe… I… I don’t understand! You… You’re a Kreldanni SMUGGLER!! I’m offering to pay you to smuggle me off of this hnaev planet!” Her eyes were welling up tears of anger as she shouted. “Please, Rankin!”

“Sorry, Doxxie. I can’t. I wouldn’t do that to you. That place ain’t for you and you know it.” Frees leaned forward and fixed his good eye on Dox’s. “You’re a damn good pilot. And you’ll get back up there where you belong again, but this… this ain’t the way. Go home. Sleep on it and really think about it. You really think your Mother hid you from them for so long for no reason? Hell, you think she wouldn't bust her ass outta that prison, string me up by my whiskers and come for you if I did that to you?”

“I DON’T CARE ABOUT HER!! SHE CAN BURN IN AREINNYE, FOR ALL I CARE!!! I JUST WANT TO GO HOME!!!” Dox screamed as tears streaked her cheeks. “Just take me HOME!!! Pleaaasssee!”

“No can do, Doxxie. I’m sorry, but I can’t take you there. There ain’t no amount of money I’d take to do that.” Rankin Frees said as calmly as he could, though it was clear that the old cat was upset as well, having spent years rerouting his ship to Cleveland of all places just to occasionally check-in on the young Rihannsu girl he once made a promise to the mother of. But he was well hardened by his years in the spacelanes and he kept his own eyes dry in spite of himself. “Just go home, kid. Go home to those folks that care about you and forget about that place. It’ll break you if you let it.”

"The 'fleet. They're good people. You could go far there. Farther than you could ever go with an old cat like me." He said flatly.

Shuddering in her seat, Dox stuffed her card back in her bag and tossed the glass against the ground where it shattered. “FINE! D… don’t take me! I’ll find someone else who’ll take me! I don’t need you, Frees! I don’t!!”

“This town, you do Doxxie. Ain’t nobody around here making runs to Romulus. And you ain’t got enough money on that card to convince anyone to take that risk. Just go home, kid.” Frees sighed, doing his level best to play it cool.

Standing up, Dox was shaking as she looked at her old friend with rage and pain in her tear-filled eyes. But she had no more words and she turned and stormed out of the bar and broke into a run towards the park where she parked her bike.

Her chest heaved and her every breath burned cold in her lungs as she slumped on her knees, sobbing and screaming in front of her hoverbike. She had been ready. She was going to leave and turn her back on everything and now she couldn’t. And again she was stuck. She was defeated. She was trapped.

Wiping a tear from her eyes, Dox felt the cool night air become hot. A dry wind seemed to chap the damp tears from her cheek as she looked up over the back of her hoverbike at a light that seemed to cut through the night sky. And looking up, she saw a sight that shocked her. A sight that reminded her where she really was and what she was trying to remember.

There, in the middle of a part in her memories of a city in Ohio on Earth was Mount Selaya. Burning red in the heat of the Vulcan sun. And the heat of that sun beat down on her again. And she was on her knees again looking ahead of herself now, not at the hoverbike which had vanished, but at the first step at the foot of the impossible climb.

And standing on that step, a thirty-two year old woman. Short and portly, she wore a crimson Starfleet uniform and a head of short, red curls. Her skin was olive and her hears pointed. And as Dox looked at the image of herself as she truly was, the image turned and began to ascend the steps silently.

Standing slowly, the nineteen-year-old Melanie Dox sniffled. And one step at a time, she began to follow.

Nights were the worst.