Trapped in a Dream
Posted on 28 Jun 2026 @ 1:16am by Lieutenant Ryan Collingway & Lieutenant Commander Steven Remington
Edited on on 28 Jun 2026 @ 1:17am
1,623 words; about a 8 minute read
Mission: Time After Time
//Sherman Oaks ///
///Ryan's POV///
Ryan opened his eyes, and shot right up from where he was sleeping. His head almost connected with the dashboard in the process. He had fell asleep in his car. Again. A peugeot. Third year college students didn't tend to make a lot of money. He turned on the radio and listed to the weather broadcast.
After the promise of sunny days for the rest of the week, he turned on the ignition and drove to the park to study. There was no way he would go home. Not with his old man in the house. Instead he took the textbook out from his bag. Electrical engineering. The front cover had his college on it-Arawyn State College, with the local mascot being a rabbit. The name had always seemed kind of dumb to him.
Like it belonged somewhere else.
Ryan frowned, but only briefly. He studied for half an hour, before dipping his hand into his pocket, wondering if he had any change for a soda later.
He picked up some weird device. A small pin of some kind with a symbol on it he didn't recognize. He must have grabbed it by accident in shop class. He pressed it experimentally, and got a weird clicking noise back. With a shrug he lost interest and threw it in the nearest garbage tin.
There was a woman walking her dog in the park, dressed in a bright pink midriff outfit. Ryan smiled and waved to her.
She rolled her eyes and moved on.
Ryan, are you always so magnanimous and easy to approach? The voice whipped in his memory. One that he didn't recognize.
Ryan froze. It wasn't the first time that happened to him.
What would impress you? I can't have a dissatisfied customer wandering around the ship. A more gentle voice. One that he should know.
Ship.
Arawyn sounded like a better name for a ship. But he had never been on one.
Ryan rubbed his head against a sudden headache. He had been studying too hard. He needed to go easier on himself.
But he still gave the textbook cover a touch of uncertainty.
///Park-Steve's POV///
Steve didn’t really know how he came to be walking in the park, but then again, he did have a memory of it, but not a recent memory. It was like he had to dig for it.
How did I get to this park?
The old antique monorail, affectionately known as Old Main, ran from the Academy to this park. He’d ridden it dozens of times. But today? He didn’t remember getting on Old Main today. He shook his head; too much French wine. Rarity it was that Academy cadets had a chance to imbibe anything much more potent than something called White Gin. He had won the coveted bottle of Merlot in a poker game. Didn’t he? The memory of the actual game escaped him. But he did know that’s where he got the wine.
What else was in that wine?
His head hurt and he felt nauseous, dangerously nauseous to be out in public. He looked around for any bit of privacy and settled for sitting down gingerly at the base of an old oak tree, leaning his back against the rough bark and taking in deep, staggered breaths of air. He closed his eyes and red light flashed behind his eyelids.
Red alert!
He said it out loud and opened his eyes. He was in a park, under the tree, fighting nausea from too much French wine. He closed his eyes again, feeling very green.
What else was in that wine?
///Park-Ryan's POV////
Ryan stared at his textbook, wondering if he was going crazy. The questions seemed fine at the beginning, but made less and less sense as he turned the pages.
Q3: You are at a space colony which is suffering from decaying infrastructure due to incorrect shield stabalization. What is the maximum wiring you need to stabilize the colony if the land mass is...
Ryan slid his gaze away. Why did the question feel the need to add in a space colony? All of the questions were getting very space-related, come to think of it.
He closed the book for a moment, and glanced at a man who was sitting under an oak tree, trying not to be nauseated. At first Ryan was dismissive, but strangely he looked familiar. He walked over to him. "Hey buddy," he said. "Are you okay?”
Steve’s eyes popped open. “Hey Ryan. No, I’m hungover and I’m not …. Oh, I’m sorry. I must have thought you were someone else.”
"No that's me," Ryan said. "I guess we're in the same class or something." Seeing other college students hungover out of their minds wasn't exactly new, particularly in a town as boring as Sherman Oaks, so he wasn't too judgemental. "There's a fountain over there if you need some water," he added helpfully.
“Yeah, thanks. Think I’ll just sit here for a minute. Feeling better. I’m Steve, Steve Remington, by the way.” Talking to someone seemed to help ease the upset stomach, though he wasn’t ready to stand up and dance a jig. “I didn’t know this park was in Sherman Oaks. What class are we in together?”
The note of familiarity became more stronger with the name being recognized. "Electrical engineering, right? Maybe you could help me with some of the practice questions, because they're a little...insane." He permitted himself a small smile.
“Ah, yeah, well, not my specialty, but yeah. Have a seat,” suggested Steve. “I’ll have to agree it’s a little insane. Why would anyone WANT to be an engineer. Well, shit. I guess people do. Maybe you do. Shit. I better shut the hell up.” He laughed as he realized he was talking to the Chief Engineer of …. something. The memory faded, replaced by a young man, who did look familiar, getting settled on the grass across from him. “Where are you from?” he asked.
"I'm from..." Ryan began, and looked down as he was suddenly hit with a strange feeling. Of desperately trying to search for a home, and finally finding one. That was in Sherman Oaks, right? But hadn't he always been here? "...around," he finished.
"Can I ask you something?" he finally asked, reluctantly. "Does something feel not right?”
Steve felt rather than understood what Ryan was talking about. It shuddered through his awareness and down his spine and he sat up straighter. “Exactly !!!” he replied without hesitation. “You’re in my dream or something, but I can’t seem to wake up. I know you, but I don’t remember who you are. Memories are all confused. I’ve never really heard of Sherman Oaks, much less been there, but right now, I know I am in Sherman Oaks. That doesn’t make sense. I know I’m hungover or still stoned, but something is wrong."
"Yeah," Ryan said uneasily, feeling exactly the same way. He stood, grabbed his textbook and sat down again. "This book doesn't make any kind of logical sense. It talks about scenarios on spaceships, and something about nanobots taking over...it has nothing to do with electrical wiring! And there was that one thing I found." He glanced at the trash.
Steve followed his eyes. “What’s in the trash can?”
Ryan got up again, and fished out the strange device from the trash can. He sat back down again, washing his hands from a bottle of water in his bag. "I don't know what it is," he confessed. "I think it's broken, maybe."
He realized he hadn't really checked all his pockets yet, and found a concealed one. "Wait...what the hell is *this* thing?" He pulled out a small, silver device of some kind. It had two buttons on it. Ryan rotated the device around, looking at it in more detail, unintentionally pointing it at himself, Steve, and the park several times.
Suddenly Steve reached over and grabbed Ryan's wrist, pulling it down toward the ground. He spoke without thinking. “Shit, that’s a weapon. You don’t wave it around!” He froze, still grasping Ryan’s arm.
Their eyes met and they stared at each other for a long moment, silent. Gradually, Ryan looked down at his hand holding the small phase pistol, then back at Steve, who very slowly let go of his arm.
“How’d I know that?” whispered Steve.
Without delay, Steve started to pat down his body, looking for pockets, hidden and otherwise. At the back of his belt he found a nearly identical piece of equipment — the weapon. In the breast pocket of the flannel shirt, he found the flat, triangular piece, the same device Ryan had pulled from the trash. He held it flat in his hand, curling his palm to turn it over a couple times, waiting for some similar revelation to reveal its purpose.
He felt as though he were out of his body, hot blood throbbing in his ears, his heart steady but pounding solidly, insistently against his chest. He swallowed. “Ryan, we are not in Kansas anymore.” The statement made no sense at all, but he knew, as in a dream one knows things, that it was appropriate to this situation.
Ryan took a deep breath at the near-miss. "Steve, why do we have weapons?" he asked. "Why do both of us have them?"
There were no answers. At least, not yet.
Lieutenant Ryan Collingway
Chief Engineer
USS Arawyn
Lieutenant Commander Steve Remington
Chief Science Officer
USS Arawyn
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