You Dream.

Your dreams drift back to older times, jumping over the raw mental scars of the battle just fought, skipping past the pleasure you shared with Yasha, skimming along over dreary miles of paperwork.

They settle into an old, worn grove, spinning back to days filled with wreckage, bad or no atmosphere, Your first brush with your current lover, and the day you lost your fear.

You are back to the days you boarded the Aegis for the first time. Sure in your imminent glory, sure that you would live forever, as all young people are. You stepped off the shuttle, and right into shit. Literally. A pile of rat shit squished under your heel. But of course there was no power, and thus no atmosphere in the shuttle bay, so nobody smelled it.

The remainder of that week is a mess of tangled wreckage and twisted metal. Of the rasp of your breath in your voidsuit. Of checking the archived maps and praying that they were accurate. Of giving the enginseers a hand hauling Emperor knows what down to the archaic twists and turns of pipes they swore was the Life Support Engines.

Your thesis still needed completion, so while everyone else was busy welding this or soldering that, you decided to sneak off to see the destroyed sections of the ship. What good is writing about the damage the Aegis had taken if you have no real appreciation for that damage? So you sealed up your suit and headed for the shuttle bay airlock. You exited it just in time to greet an incoming shuttle. Recognizing the presence of a crest on its nose as marking it as the transport of someone important, you decided a tad bit of theater was in order. So you stood by the airlock and gestured the pair of Navigators in as if holding the door for them at a formal soiree. The elder of the two, if the number of charms and fetishes was anything to go by, brushed past you without even noting your presence. The second one was far more sensibly attired, carrying a rifle instead of just an overguilded laspistol. She nodded a quick thanks, and quickly followed after her mentor.

You exited the permanently open shuttle bay, ducking through a jagged hole in the one remaining armored door, and headed aft. One small timeless time of drifting back down the hull and you reach the destroyed areas. In nightmares past, you had torn your suit or gone drifting off into the void, suffering a thousand thousands of little dream-deaths before awakening.

This time, you suffer no such fate, and stare once again at the cratered ruin that used to be the Plasma Drive Room. Shattered scraps of metal as tall as three men drift and spin endlessly in the microgravity. Deep down, on the far side of the destroyed compartments, you can see the fitful sputter of the enginseers at work. Standing among the work, you see the young Navigator looking over the work, apparently unconcerned by the lack of atmosphere. Your respect for her increases another notch as you see her take in her surroundings and treat them with the proper respect an active work zone requires.

Your dreams jump-skip-slide ahead. You feel like you are standing in a burning freezer as you dream of the horrific moment when the still-damages Aegis tried to enter the warp for the first time. The old crone of a Navigator twisting and distorting as the Kania Maw drags at the ship in a sudden spasm of spite and fury. The Things pulling themselves out of the flicker-flash-madness shadows. The armsmen and crewmen torn apart by the Things. Serpent’s Breath snagging on your clothing a you try to draw it. The old crone Navigator tearing off her headband, the purple-blue-azure light spilling forth, Things and people alike turning to ash before her Lidless Stare. Serpent’s Breath finally in your hand as one more Thing materializes and tears into the old crone navigator. Tearing Serpent's Breath free of their combined corpses, the old crone Navigator half-melted, half-shifted into a Thing herself. The realization that nothing else in reality can compare to this singing moment, and that fear will only ever haunt your dreams for here forward.

Your dreams slide-jolt-jump again, and you dream of the stone-hard look on the young Navigator's face as she takes the Aegis into the warp, bound for Viking on her first ever solo jump, her mother's overguilded laspistol at her side.

Your dreams take on that translucent, wispy, fading-away feeling that you get as you awaken. You blink hard, and raise a hand to the bandage covering your left eye, Chief Medicae Berach staring back at you. Dozens of questions rattle around in your head. Who survived? What condition are you in?