“Computer, activate Emergency Medical Holographic program,” Florrick ordered the moment he crawled into sickbay. The access hatch behind him sealed with a pneumatic sigh. He pushed himself upright, his breathing ragged, eyes sweeping the room. Every one of Doctor Tomraf’s staff was unconscious. Their stillness was unnatural, each one frozen, some with instruments clutched loosely in their hands.

The soft hum of holographic emitters filled the silence. A shimmer of blue light resolved into the shape of a woman with auburn hair, neatly pinned at the nape of her neck, and green eyes bright with clinical alertness. She looked human, perhaps mid-thirties, her Starfleet medical uniform crisp and immaculate.

“Please state the nature of the medical emergency,” she said, her tone even, almost singsong. She blinked once as her gaze swept the unconscious staff. “What has happened here? And why are you not in uniform, Ensign?”

“It’s a long story, Doctor,” Florrick said, his voice cracking slightly as he slumped into a chair. He felt the weight of everything pressing down, the absurd Peter Pan tunic clinging to his chest, the silence of the ship, the ache in his head.

The holographic doctor tilted her head, then crouched beside one of the fallen medics. Her tricorder chirped softly as she passed it over the man’s still form. “All stable. No trauma, no toxin response, no neural disruption. Brainwave activity shows they’re just unconscious.”

Florrick swallowed hard. “That’s what I thought. When I was on the bridge earlier, I detected a neurogenic field in place around the Orion. The ship got hit by a Botha task group. They dropped out of warp right after we found a derelict. They attacked with some kind of psionic projector.”

She straightened, eyes narrowing slightly as she turned her scan on him. “And you’re unaffected?”

“Not exactly,” Florrick said, rubbing at his temple. “Not as bad as the others, but,” He hesitated, glancing to the side. “I think I’m hallucinating.”

As if on cue, two voices chimed in behind him, warm and unmistakably playful.

“Hallucinating?” Jordan’s voice teased, low and intimate. “You make it sound like we’re not real.”

Florrick’s stomach dropped. He turned sharply.

Alfie and Jordan leaned against the far biobed, both wearing versions of the ridiculous costumes from the holodeck adventures from Neverland. Alfie’s grin was all mischief; Jordan’s eyes glittered with that same knowing charm.

“Not now,” Florrick whispered. “Please, not now.”

The holographic doctor followed his gaze, brow furrowing. “Ensign?”

“They’re not there,” Florrick said quickly. “I know they’re not there.”

“Who isn’t there?”

“Just, just ignore it.” He scrubbed his hands over his face, forcing himself to focus on her. “The Botha used this field to knock everyone out. Captain Krabreii put the ship on lockdown before she went under. I can’t access command functions. Helm, weapons, shields, all sealed. We’re dead in space, and they’re boarding us.”

The doctor nodded slowly, her expression tightening into one of controlled concern. “That would explain the neurogenic signature. I can detect the field’s interference pattern; it’s saturating every deck.”

“I don’t even know why it’s not working on me,” Florrick admitted. “Last time I dealt with something like this was on the Astra. Some form of Nacene technology. It messed with my brain somehow.”

Her tricorder whirred softly. “Your neural topology is irregular,” she confirmed. “There’s evidence of non-human psionic interaction. It’s possible that alteration is disrupting the Bothan frequency, allowing partial resistance.”
Florrick didn’t like the sound of that. “Can you stop the hallucinations?”

She looked at him carefully, then reached for a hypospray. “I can dampen the neural hyperactivity. It won’t last.” She pressed the injector to his neck. The cool hiss made him flinch. “That should quiet them for a while.”

The relief was almost instant. The tension behind his eyes eased, and when Florrick looked back toward the biobed, Alfie and Jordan were gone, though he could still feel them, lingering, like the echo of laughter just beyond hearing.

He exhaled shakily. “Thanks.”

“You need to stay focused,” the holographic doctor said briskly, tucking the tricorder under her arm. “If we can deactivate the neurogenic field, the rest of the crew should recover.”

“Right,” Florrick said, pushing himself to his feet. “So how do we do that?”

She hesitated. For a moment, she looked almost human with uncertainty plastered across her face. Then she shrugged. “If we could access the ship’s deflector, we might be able to create a countermeasure to field. Unfortunately, that system is offline and sealed behind the captain’s security protocols.”

“So that’s a no.”

“That’s a ‘not yet,’” she corrected evenly. “In the meantime, we need to stay safe. The Botha are boarding, yes?”

Florrick nodded grimly. “The computer detected intruders on deck seven.”

“Then our first priority is containment,” she said firmly. “Sickbay is defensible. We can seal it, maintain environmental control, and monitor internal sensors.”

Florrick hesitated. “You mean hide.”

“I mean survive,” she replied without irony. “You can’t help the crew if you’re unconscious or worse, dead.”

He managed a weak smile. “You sound like my old commanding officer.”

“Then your last captain was a sensible person,” she said, and crossed to the wall console. “Computer, emergency medical priority one one four. Lock down Sickbay. Authorisation E-M-H-one-alpha.”

“Acknowledged.”

“Also activate emergency containment force fields around the bridge and all critical systems across the ship. Only allow my authorisation and Ensign Florrick’s codes to deactivate them.”

“Acknowledged.”

The lights dimmed slightly as the door seals engaged.

The holographic doctor turned to the ensign. “There, that should slow the Botha down for a bit.”

Florrick sat on the edge of a biobed, feeling the weight of exhaustion pulling at him.

The silence pressed in again, but this time, it wasn’t empty.

He thought he heard whispering.

Soft laughter.

He rubbed his temples. “It’s wearing off already, isn’t it?”

The doctor glanced up, expression carefully neutral. “Possibly. The cortical suppressant is temporary. Your hallucinations may persist intermittently.”

Florrick laughed once, hollow and tired. “Of course.”

When he looked up again, Alfie was sitting on the biobed across from him, swinging one leg idly, grin wide. Jordan leaned against the wall behind him, eyes half-lidded.

“You’re really trying, Scotty,” Jordan said softly. “Trying to redeem yourself and prove that you’re worthy of that shiny new pip. Always the hero.”

Florrick squeezed his eyes shut. “Go away.”

Alfie chuckled. “But we’re helping, remember? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Stop it,” Florrick said again, louder this time.

The doctor’s voice cut through, calm and precise. “Focus on me, Ensign. The hallucinations are products of residual neurogenic feedback. They cannot harm you.”

He opened his eyes, meeting her steady green gaze.

“Then tell me what I can do,” he said. “How do we stop this? How do I stop them?”

She considered, eyes darting briefly to the unconscious crew. “For now,” she said finally, “we lock ourselves in and keep the systems stable. You need rest, and I need to study your neural scans. Once I have more data, we’ll find a way to counteract the field’s frequency. Until then,” She gave a slight shrug. “We stay here and wait.”

Florrick exhaled, the sound halfway between relief and despair. “Just wait.”

“Sometimes, Ensign,” she said gently, “the best action is preparation.”

He nodded numbly, staring past her at the quiet bodies of the crew and the ghosts that refused to leave him alone.

From the far corner of the room, Alfie and Jordan watched, their smiles fading into something unreadable.

“You can’t hide forever,” Alfie whispered.

Florrick closed his eyes.