Florrick had barely left the holodeck when his world turned upside down. He was still in the absurd costume Anderson had forced on him for the promotion ceremony. The cloth clung to him as though it were mocking him, a remnant of a celebration that already felt like it belonged to another life.

What a time to be wandering the ship in costume, he thought bitterly.

His muscular arms felt exposed in the cool, recycled air of the ship, and he silently cursed Anderson for insisting he wear it for the ceremony. He tugged at the neckline for the hundredth time as he strode along the corridor, trying to keep his thoughts on the sudden call from the bridge for everyone to take measures to defend the ship. As one of the ship’s security officers, he needed to get to the nearest armoury and help repel whoever was trying to board the Orion.

Stepping barefoot on the cold deck-plating underneath him, Florrick soon realised. It was very quiet. At first, he thought it was some prank, some additional attempt that Anderson had cooked up, but the silence gnawed at him. The ship was too quiet except for a slight tremor.

The tremor faded, leaving behind a pulse of dizziness that made him squint. His vision wavered; the corridor bent unnaturally, as though made of glass. For a moment, shadows flickered overhead, not power conduits or bulkheads, but the outline of leaves and a star-filled night sky. The silhouette of the boat he had just been on, sails swollen with wind, glided across the ceiling like a phantom.

Florrick squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them again, it was just the bulkhead lights and grey duranium. His breathing came fast and shallow.

Something was wrong.

Halfway to the turbolift, he almost tripped. A young Vulcan crewman lay sprawled on the floor, his pulse strong, but his eyes were firmly closed. He was in a deep sleep.

“Hey!” Florrick knelt, shaking the man’s shoulder. “Come on! Wake up!”

Nothing. Not even a murmur.

Florrick rose, his chest tightening, and continued. A pair of engineers were slumped against a bulkhead farther down, tools scattered from their slack hands. In the distance, the soft hum of the ship’s systems seemed louder, oppressive.

What the hell is happening?

He pushed onward, his embarrassment about the costume now almost secondary to the rising panic in his chest. He passed more crew slumped over consoles or lying where they’d fallen. None of them stirred.

The turbolift at the corridor’s end responded sluggishly to his call, humming to life before its doors opened. He stumbled inside, muttering, “Bridge.”

The cart hummed upward, lights flickering once, twice, as if even the ship itself was struggling to stay awake.
By the time he reached the bridge, dread had hollowed him out. The turbolift doors opened with a cheerful hiss, absurd against the sight within. When the doors parted, Scott stepped onto the bridge and froze.

The sight that greeted him was enough to freeze his blood. The entire senior staff were down, incapacitated in some inexplicable way.

Commander Saval sat rigid in the first officer’s chair, his hands relaxed on the armrests, eyes closed as if in meditation, though his chest rose and fell with slow, steady breaths.

At ops, Bollwyn was draped across her console, her long hair spilling over the display, lights flickering against her still face. Jines was sprawled halfway over the helm station, one arm dangling off the edge. Tomraf slumped on the deck near the doors to the conference room, head tilted back. Nali had collapsed near the engineering console, her tiny form almost swallowed by the chair. Kulucis was slumped over the science station. His face pressed against the console. And in the centre seat, Captain Mo’Lee-Krabreii leaned to one side, her hair spilling forward, a figure of command suddenly rendered fragile.

“No,” Florrick whispered, his voice barely audible over the chaos. “This can’t be happening.”

He moved from one to the next, checking pulses, shaking shoulders, listening for breath. They were all alive, but unreachable, locked in a shared trance. His hands trembled as he gripped the back of the captain’s chair.

For a wild second, Florrick thought he was the one dreaming. That this was just the holodeck again, another of Anderson’s elaborate pranks. But then the deck plating shuddered, and warning klaxons screamed. Panels sparked, smoke rising from the tactical station.

He ran forward, crouching beside Anderson. His heart gave a painful twist.

“Lieutenant? Brad? Come on, wake up!” He shook him by the shoulder, checking his pulse. It was strong and steady, but there was no response.

Florrick’s eyes burned. Anderson had been his squadron leader at the Academy. His friend. His crush. Not that anyone had ever known. Florrick had buried that truth beneath his cadet discipline, pretending it was just admiration. But seeing him limp, helpless, was worse than anything.

“What the hell am I supposed to do?”

The answer came, uninvited—a voice, teasing, light.

“First off, Scotty-boy, you could do with a shirt.”

Florrick spun. There, leaning casually against the tactical rail, was Anderson. He was dressed exactly as he had been in the holodeck, the perfect picture of Peter Pan, hat tipped at a jaunty angle, a crooked smile playing on his lips. He brushed off his Peter Pan tunic, cocking his head in that insufferably confident way he had at the Academy.

Except it wasn’t Anderson. The man’s eyes glowed faintly, and there was something insubstantial in the way the light of the consoles bent around him.

“You’re not real,” Florrick said flatly.

“No,” Anderson agreed. “But you’re still walking around like that.” He gestured at Florrick’s bare chest with a smirk. “Good thing the crew’s asleep, or you’d have quite the audience. You didn’t think saving the day in that outfit would make anyone take you seriously, did you?”

Florrick cursed under his breath, turning to the captain’s console. His fingers flew over the controls. “Computer, status report.”

The calm, neutral feminine voice replied. “Warning. A neurogenic field has been detected. It is permeating the vessel. Multiple crewmembers are incapacitated. Vital signs stable. External identification of the source is from the nearby Botha ships.”

“Neurogenic field,” Florrick repeated. He raked a hand through his hair. He was no scientist, but he knew what one of them was and knew it was bad. “That’s what this is. And I’m—” He stopped, suddenly aware of the faint buzzing at the back of his skull. It wasn’t that he was immune. Just resistant. Enough to move, enough to think. “Damn it,” He whispered. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to breathe. “This is not real. Focus. Focus.”

The ship shuddered. Panels flickered.

Anderson’s illusion straightened, his smirk fading. “That’ll be our guests trying to get on board.”

Florrick whirled back to the viewscreen. At first, it showed only the drifting hulk of the derelict vessel they had been approaching, a silent shape without scars, without emissions. Then, beside it, two ships were closing in on the Orion.

“The Botha,” Florrick breathed, the word escaping without conscious thought. He didn’t know how he was meant to deal with all of this, but knew he had to.

Onscreen, the Bothan ships lit their projectors. Another tremor rolled through the Orion. Sparks leapt from a rear panel. Somewhere deep in the decks below, metal groaned.

Florrick staggered to his feet. “Computer, damage report.”

“Warning. Structural breaches on decks eight and eleven. Localised power outages in decks four through nine. Deflector control offline.”

He jogged over to the tactical station and tried to access the ship’s weapon controls, but was instantly denied access.

“Primary command functions are deactivated. Command override unavailable.”

He slammed a fist against the console. “Of course, she locked it down. Damn it!”

Behind him, Anderson laughed. “You always did like a challenge, Scotty-boy. Guess it’s your ship now.”

“I don’t need this,” Florrick snapped at the phantom. He stalked toward the engineering station, trying to access the warp core status or impulse reactors, but the screen only flashed red with the captain’s lockdown in place. His heart hammered. He could do nothing. Nothing.

And then he heard them.

“Scott.”

The voices were warm, familiar. He turned, and his breath caught.

It was Alfie McCallister and Jordan Duncan-Court.

Alfie and Jordan stood side by side at the rear of the bridge, bathed in the glow of the consoles. But not in uniform. Alfie wore a cocky smirk beneath a feathered cap, his shirt cut scandalously low, and his shorts were tight. Jordan, laughing softly, leaned against him, clad in a tunic the colour of twilight, a dagger tucked in his belt.

Florrick took a step back; his knees almost buckled. “No. Not you two. You’re not here.”

Alfie tilted his head. “Not here? Looks like we are.” He strolled forward, every step exaggerated, mocking. “And dressed for the part, too. You like it?”

Jordan chuckled, eyes glinting. “You always said you liked us in costume.” He reached out, tracing the air as though brushing Florrick’s bare arm. “You look good, Scott. Better than good.”

“Stop it,” Florrick hissed. His throat felt tight. The bridge seemed to tilt around him, shadows swelling in the corners. None of this was real; he had to keep thinking that.

Alfie leaned close, his voice dropping into a sing-song whisper. “You left us behind on the Astra, remember? Left us to deal with the mess.”

Jordan laughed, the sound bright and cruel. “And now you’re alone, just like you wanted. Far away from us. No messy relationships.”

Florrick clenched his fists, shaking his head violently. “You’re not real. You’re not real!”

A new alarm cut through the tension, shrill and cold.

“Intruder alert. Unauthorised docking procedures detected.”

Florrick spun toward the tactical board, every nerve sparking with panic. The Botha weren’t content to cripple the ship. They were boarding it and were probably preparing to take it. And he had no command access, no control over weapons, nothing.

Behind him, Alfie and Jordan’s laughter rang out, flirtatious, cruel.

“Don’t worry, Scott,” Jordan murmured, voice brushing his ear like a caress. “We’ll keep you company.”

Alfie’s grin was wicked. “After all, you’ve always wanted us both. Right?”

Florrick gritted his teeth, caught between the cold reality of the computer’s warning and the unbearable nearness of two phantoms from his past. His heart pounded. He was alone, and the ship was under siege.

And for the first time, he honestly wondered if he could save anyone at all.