The sound of feline trilling and purring flooded Miranda’s ears in the most indignant way.  She turned her head away from the in defiant opposition to O’s subtle attempts to remind her that breakfast was late.  The cat’s full name was Orange Valentine, a testament to the color of his fur and the day he was gifted to her as a poor substitution for a date.

“I’ll feed you in a minute,” Miranda groaned in protest.  “The sun’s not even out yet.”

Silence was the affirming sign O had gotten the picture and that she had at least ten more minutes of rest before he returned with vengeance, the annoying pawing and clawing.  Uncertain how much time had actually passed, Miranda was jolted to consciousness by what felt like a scratch on the back of her head.  Reactively she rolled to her side cradling her head breathing heavily between gritted teeth.

“What the hell,” Miranda screamed, agonizing the growing intensity of cranial pain.

Orange Valentine had never been violent in his demands, mostly tossing hair and pawing at sensitive earlobes.  Feeling the adrenaline and cortisol course through her veins, she managed to hoist herself onto her left forearm.  She had plan to launch out of bed and begin the chase, but the capability wasn’t there.  She could barely hold herself up as she touched the back of her head once more.  It was far more sensitive now and warm viscous liquid appeared to be running from some unknown open laceration.

“What time is it,” she muttered as her eyes blinked in complete darkness.

She could barely see anything and found it difficult to place exactly where she was located.  It seemed natural to assume she was back home, evidenced by Mr. Valentine presence and playful antics. There was little more evidence to go on with such limited visibility, except that the mattress was far more firm than she remember.  She rolled herself flat on the floor and began feeling her surroundings with outstretched arms.  

“I must have fallen out of bed,” she thought, feeling mildly regretful of her furious assumptions about Valentine.  “Maybe he was just trying to wake me up”.

All she could feel was metallic elements surrounding her being.  She concluded that not only had she fallen out of bed, she must have rolled farther than arms reach from her bed.  It was all still a bit confusing, surely she would have hit a wall, her dresser, or something within reach.

From some where in the distance Valentine’s yowled in distress, his own way of stressing “I’m dying!” and appealing to Miranda’s nurturing instincts.  She had no idea where he was, but she could distinctly hear it coming from the left.  Still unable to see and make sense of her surroundings she drug herself across the cold metallic ground.  The process was more difficult than it should have been.  Each stretch and pull increased the throbbing sensation in her skull.

Various levels and types of pain spread across her body as she tried to sit up on her knees.  She wavered and fell back to the hard ground beneath her.  She lay still for several minutes…or hours…there was really no way to tell.  She was disoriented, felt dizzy, moderately nauseated, and clammy to the touch.  

“What the hell is this?”

She knew the darkness wouldn’t respond and gave herself credit for knowing that much in the current moment.  She began the process of crawling, dragging her tingling left leg behind her.  She followed Valentine’s chattering at a slugs pace bumping into furniture, rocks, or even vehicles.  She still wasn’t able to make sense of this disastrous dream.

Maybe that’s what this is, she thought as her outstretched hand grasped something to cling to.  The gripping provided her the leverage to pull herself up into a seated position and rest her back against the metallic box.  Collecting her thoughts and resting her exhausted body, she whined about Valentine’s continued screams.  She hit the metallic storage container with her left hand and groaned as the vocalizations became louder and more piercing.  It was unlike any cry she had hear from Valentine before.

She closed her eyes and winced in pain as she pushed upwards with her feet using her elbows to leverage the container to pull herself up.  That nuisance was just on the other side.  She could hear it…and see it.  From just beyond the container’s horizon were a disco of red, green, and white lights which appeared to be the source of the robotic sounds agitating her ears.

“There’s nothing here to scan,” she scolded, reaching for the device.

She cradled the device in her hand and instantly toggled the button to emit light.  She was surprised by her quick finger work and familiarity with the device as she passed it from side to side to gather information and obtain better visibility of her surroundings.  The room she observed was definitely not her bedroom, at least what she recalled to be her bedroom.  At least she was safe in a room which appeared to be empty, from what she understood from the beeps and imaging on the screen.

“A tricorder…this is my tricorder!”

Endorphins rushed through her body as her mind became just a little more clear.  She clutched the tricorder to her chest in gratitude.  She bowed her head and released a heavy sigh catching a glimpse of her combadge  still attached to her Starfleet uniform.  She recognized the color yellow and recalled her role as one of the ‘tinker bells’ responsible for the ‘magic’ which keeps the ship in tip-top shape.  

“Navarro to Ops,” she whimpered tapping the badge, her lifeline.  

“Please, someone answer,” she pleaded.

Silence.

“Life is a spark between two identical voids, the one before birth and the one after death.” ~ Irvin Yalom