AN: Everything not in a parenthesis is by Vaeru, an amazingly god-like being who *Ahem* I mean a really good writer on this site. This is her plotbunny, I'm just… running with it…

(Where are you?)

Waking was a long journey, a stream of feelings and sights and sounds that made no sense at all and yet were so wholly right that the burgeoning consciousness felt less as a foreign journey and more as a homecoming, pieces coming together to fall seamlessly into a perfect whole.

(Where are you? Hello? Baby sister here… any hyper-protective older sisters there?)

There were always voices, tides of sound that swelled and ebbed in a sort of steady rhythm. Some voices rose above the rest, mostly because of their unique sounds or the frequency with which they spoke. There was one voice with its delightful way of twisting sounds, extending the r's and blurring the lines between one word and the next, pure pleasure to hear.

(Where are you? Hell-o? Guys?)

There was another voice that stood above the others, velvety smooth, higher than the other yet dark and warm, soothing.

(Guys? You there? Anyone?)

Another, similar to the first, produced broad vowels and fobbed the harsh edges of words, bleeding them together, creating a drawl that suggested an easygoing nature for all that the voice almost always exuded pure stress.

(Please… Where are you? Stop playing around you guys- I'm really worried about all of you…)

And his voice.

He spoke most often of all, voice deep and resounding, ringing of authority. Sometimes his voice would rise, stern and demanding, and those were the times when the world would rock and tremble, pain and confusion lighting the world in streaks of red and white, voices rising in a crescendo of fear and fury that swirled and rose and drowned out thought itself.

(Where are you? I'm scared- Whereareyou? If this is a joke, it isn't funny!)

But he would remain throughout, steady, strong, a grounding force at the midst of so much terror, and just when things would be at the worst, the world would suddenly steady, and the pain would fade, and the voices would resume their normal rise and fall, all becoming right once more.

(No one's answered; is anyone there? F-fergie? Di-Tse? Gravy? Mags? Coco? Guys, this isn't funny! Please, just answer! Please…)

And then a time came, and the puzzle was complete, all the pieces together, the picture complete. The voices had names: Montgomery Scott, Nyota Uhura, Leonard McCoy.

James Kirk.

There were others. Spock. Chekov. Sulu. Four-hundred and twenty-three lives, four-hundred and twenty-three voices... all within this moving world.

All within her.

(They're here, but none of you are- Why aren't any of you- Why won't any of you answer me? Please, just- Just answer, okay? I'm sorry if I've- if I've made you upset, o-or if you don't have t-time for me anymore b-but… please, I just want- I want to talk to my older sisters…)

A time came, and she was awake, and she had a name.

/U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701./

(And then came the other things- the… other names, the names of her- she doesn't know what, because 'sister' is too small a word for what Fergie and Di-Tse and Gravy and Mags and Coco are to her; it hurts to think about them but she knows that they should be there, They should be answering her and they're not, and- and She knows that- that something horrible happened that she can't remember- that she doesn't want to remember, but when she calls to them- they have to be there, she can't be the only one who-

A-and the voices inside her are nice… but they aren't- They aren't…

Farragut. Dianthus-Tsembelis. Gravitas. Mangrove. Coatis. Where are you? Why won't you talk to me? I miss you all; I just want to talk to my sisters… please… please talk to me…)

/Captain's log. Stardate 3263.8. Nearly five weeks have passed since our encounter with the Bengkor nebula outside of the M'Jaen system, and the strange phenomena aboard the ship have yet to abate. Scotty has no explanation for the energy surges within the warp core, nor has Spock produced a logical reason for the sudden increase in the activity within the computer systems. While there is no danger at present, all of engineering is at work attempting to track down the cause.

It has been two months since the Vulcan Incident, and the crew is… adjusting. There is an occasional air of melancholy that permeates the ship; after the encounter with the nebula, the melancholy air has seemed to settle over Communications Decks Three through Seven- Nurse Chapel has been inundated with requests for anti-depressants.

On a more private note, I find myself uneasy. On a ship, even starship class, there is rarely a moment when one feels completely alone. My private quarters are one of very few places where I can find such solitude, yet now I have the strangest feeling that I am being followed, something looking over my shoulder, with me every moment of the day. My sleep has been restless of late as well- I do not know whether it is the cause or the result of the strange feeling. Should this continue, I will have to consult Dr. McCoy./

AN: Thoughts? Comments?