Contact by Laura Pickering

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Thompson walked from the unconscious doctor to the unconscious pilot and then back again. A mystified look plastered on his face. He looked up at the sky, perhaps awaiting an explanation from the heavens. Finally Thompson turned his attention to the one place he was almost certain the problems lay.

Mitchell fidgeted under the other man's scrutiny, absently rubbing his smashed nose.

"Well? Are you going to tell me what the hell happened here?" Thompson demanded with an exasperated sigh.

"They... They tried to escape," was the first answer that popped into his head. He looked to the other members of his squad for support. "Weren't they?" The four avoided his gaze, and his question. Preferring not to get involved, in this particular butting of heads.

"Bull! That is a heap of crap, and we both know it." Thompson squared up to the younger man. Calm green eyes daring him to argue. "Now, what I 'want' to know, is how are 'you' going to deal with it?"

"Wha.. What?" Mitchell's bravado had all but vanished. "Deal with what?"

"Deal with them" he spat, motioning to the unmoving pair. "He is no use to us anymore, thanks to you. If he's not dead already, he soon will be." He walked over to Julia and lifted her head up, the doctor quietly moaned in protest. "And how in god's name are we supposed to take Heller to the Council looking like this. Just look at her face." He turned her head so that Mitchell could get a good look. Her left eye was swollen shut and there was an ugly gash on her cheekbone where the ring on his hand had caught her. "From the looks of it she'll probably have a severe concussion as well."

"They'll probably thank me." He sneered, regaining his composure. "He was nothing more than a cocky sleep-jumper, and she's a traitor to the Council."

"That may well be. But it is not for us to pass judgment and enact a penalty. We were just supposed to take them all back - alive."

Mitchell shrugged, absolving himself from all responsibility. "So are we gonna stand here yapping all night, or what?" He looked at his watch and then up into the night sky. "We have to be through that window by 0200 hours."

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Alonzo Solace was dying. As he lapsed in and out of consciousness, un-connected events from his past began to storm his mind, taking him from childhood to manhood in a matter of seconds.

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Dr Heller, wasn't sure if she was dying or not, but it sure felt like it. Her whole head felt as if it was going to implode at any second. She felt nauseous and the strange jarring movements she was experiencing weren't helping her condition either. Slowly and using a fair amount of energy to do it, Julia opened her eyes (actually, just one eye. The other refused to budge). The world greeted her from a very strange angle - upside down to be exact. In her current state it took her a few seconds to realize that she was being carried over someone's shoulder. The ground loomed in and out with every step, Julia's stomach going with it. The doctor desperately tried to quell the overwhelming queasiness, but it was no use. The next step taken caused Julia to ungraciously vomit all over the carrier's back.

With no regard for her, Weirzbowski promptly dropped his human load. He craned his neck, to see what damage had been done to the back of his shirt. Wrinkling his nose in distaste and without touching any of the offending mess, the Private shrugged out of the shirt and held it at arms length. "Wait up" he called to the others ahead of him. "I gotta change, she puked on me."

Thompson whipped around in response to Weirzbowski's complaint. "Oh for god's sake! Will you just carry her back to camp, you can change when you get there" the senior officer snapped. Sick of the constant interruptions.

"Yessir" Weirzbowski answered resignedly. Julia was now fully awake and was not of the mind for going anywhere, she shied away from the soldier's outstretched arms. "Lieutenant Thompson" the Private called quietly.

"WHAT?!" Thompson turned again to face his sub-ordinate, face red with anger. As the Private nodded his head towards the ground, Thompson's attention was drawn to the doctor. His features softened as he addressed Julia, attempting to provide a friendly face. "Dr. Heller, is there a problem?"

Julia began to scoot herself across the ground, kicking up dust. As the others surrounded her, she stopped. Looking from face to face, she finally rested on Thompson's. "Where are you going?"

Mitchell was the one to answer, carefully selecting his words. "We're getting off this stinking planet, and 'you' are coming with us."

"NO! I'm not going anywhere." Resuming her frantic attempt to escape, Julia tried to stand up, and Mitchell didn't even try to hold back the contemptuous laugh, as the spinning in her head caused her to fall back down. The doctor pulled herself into a defensive crouch.

"I'm afraid you don't have much choice in the matter." Mitchell nodded his head, and a person unseen to the doctor stepped up behind her. Julia felt the cold metal press against her neck, and as the sedative entered her system, she blacked out once more.

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Alonzo luxuriously stretched himself out on the sandy beach, the sun beating down on his bare chest. The steady rhythm of the waves slapping against the shore lulling the pilot into a light doze. He heard soft footfall approaching him, and then a shadow fell over his torso, blocking out the comforting rays. Sleepily he opened his eyes.

Julia looked down at him, as she held back her wind-blown hair with one hand. "Come-on flyboy, lets go for a swim."

He smiled up at the mischievous grin that played upon the young doctor's face, and took the proffered hand. It was with a great deal of disappointment, that Alonzo realized that there was something not quite right with this scenario - the colours were too bright, the sounds too clear. The hand he held, was definitely not right. Instead of being warm and soft, as Julia's should have been. It was cool and dry, almost leathery. As Alonzo looked up one more, the scenery around him changed. The beach at New Pacifica vanished, replaced by the uninviting site that housed the derelict Eden Advance ship. This time it was the face of a Terrian that quizzically looked down at him. *I must be on the dreamplane* Alonzo surmised.

"The link is weak, Dream-walker."

"I'm dying, can't concentrate enough."

"Dying?" the terrian tilted its head quizzically, reminding Alonzo of a dog, he once had as a boy.

A sharp pain arced through the pilot's body. The damaged link was causing reality to leak into the dreamplane. Alonzo looked down at his blood-soaked stomach and then back up to the terrian. "I'm losing a lot of blood" the being's head tilted once more. Alonzo tried to simplify. "'Life' - the life is leaving my body."

"You are in pain?" Alonzo nodded.

The Terrian extended a hand to touch the pilot's wound. Alonzo feared that he hadn't made himself clear, and tensed at the Terrian's touch, expecting extreme pain. Instead the area under the hand immediately became numb. Alonzo felt nothing at all. He wasn't sure whether that was a good sign or not.

"Pain now?"

Alonzo slowly shook his head. "How did you do that?"

"Can not heal. Can only stop pain. While you are dreaming it will not worsen, but you must not leave here."

When he looked back down, Alonzo saw that the huge blood stain had gone from the front of his shirt but he still felt incredibly weak. Settling back under the Terrian's gentle touch, Alonzo closed his eyes, hoping that help was on its way.

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Ulysses Adair awoke with a start, his curly hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. He jumped out of his cot, hurriedly pulled on his shoes and then raced out of his tent.

"Mom. Mom!" he shouted, waking most of the sleeping camp in the process.

Bess pulled on her jacket and stepped out into the cool night, grabbing the young boy by the arm as he ran by. "Uly what's the matter, did you have a bad dream?"

"Yes. Well, um, I suppose - No. I gotta find my mom, do you know where she is?"

The young woman frowned at his confused answer. "Devon's in the Communications tent, why what's wrong?"

"I just spoke to Alonzo."

"You did?" Bess asked as she rummaged in her coat pocket for her Gear.

Noticing what she was pulling out of her pocket, Uly put her straight. "No, not by Gear. I spoke to him in my dream."

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