The first sensation was a hand on his shoulder, shaking him. The second was the sound of screaming in his ears. His eyes popping open wide in terror as he sucked air, Hob began to realize the screams were coming out of his own throat and that the pounding bass line beneath it all was his heart. The neuro-tech sat bolt upright, almost catching his head on the lid of the stasis bed. Every muscle was rigid in fear, the fight or flight response amped to its height but caught perfectly balanced between the two. His breath started to come in shuddering gasps as the terror left his mind, and somewhere to his left he could hear Charlie whimpering as the night fears left him and to his right he heard Yuriko vomiting. Hearing a sixty year old man whimper like a baby set Hob's teeth on edge. Medic techs shifted around the three beds, checking each of the technicians' vitals. It was another of those unexplained side-effects of the implants, he recalled as he tried not to hyperventilate. Others slept, if that was the word, without dreaming. Neuro-activity was reduced near enough to zero as to not matter for normal people when they were hibernating, but the neuro-interface technicians inexplicably would still have dreams.

Or more accurately, nightmares.

There was simply something in the implant process that no one had even considered when preparing the [i]Copernicus[/i]: how would cryo-stasis affect those with the networking implants? The answer was obvious enough once they were in flight, and that answer was "Badly." 

Someone was in front of his face, asking something about feeling... nausea... memories... his name...

"Knock it off," he muttered, swinging his feet around to sit up. The semi-private chamber for the three techs of the Starboard Watch swung around him as vertigo set in; elsewhere in the ship, Hob knew that Singh, Annette, and Tyson of the Port Watch were going through the same thing; they had to start to co-ordinate and relieve the Second Shift techs as quickly as possible. So no time could be allowed for lolly-gagging. Sure enough, Yuriko appeared at his side. They exchanged a look and nodded before moving slowly to assist the lame Charlie to his feet and find his cane. The team no longer really needed words to communicate with each other; once you shared enough brain space with each other, you had a pretty good idea what the other was thinking. It was when you [i]didn't[/i] know what was on their minds that meant trouble...

The trio made their way to their own briefing, meeting the second team on the way. Again, mutual nods of recognition and no speaking. Instead, they limped, staggered, and leaned upon each other as they entered the small conference room. They wouldn't be attending the standard orientation along with the rest of Third Shift, or rather they would but just not in person. One of the ship's officers was there in the room already, tablet in hand. The name on her military issue overalls read, "Harris." She didn't look happy. When each took a seat around the conference table and looked towards the officer as one, it made the ginger haired woman's flesh crawl. She and her peers had drawn lots for the 'privilege' of addressing the neuro-techs, and she had 'won.' 

"Thank you for arriving so promptly," Harris began, releasing a deep breath as she spoke. It was clear she wanted this over with, quickly. "There have been a few changes that Second Shift had to implement, things that we didn't expect and that they had to make allowances for." She paused, waiting for Hob or any of the other to say anything. Nothing. Another deep breath. "I know the standard you were trained for was a Two-In-One Watch. Seven hours on, five hours off, five hours on, seven hours off. We thought this would better allow for sleeping schedules. But after psychiatric evaluation of First and Second Shift... We are moving your teams to a more traditional Dogged Watch. Four hour watches with the last one a two hour watch for each team, the dog watch."

NOW there was sound from them, a chorus of groans of which the loudest was Hob's. "You're killing us," he gripped bitterly. "Four hours of sleep between watches?! Give us a fucking break, we're not military!" He rubbed at his face, feeling the scruff of his face against his hands as other voices rose in angry protest.

"I know! I know! It's not what you're used to and it's not what you trained for. But Psyche says-"

"Psyche can kiss my implanted arse," muttered Singh in his Hindi accent.

"Psyche says they don't want any of you in there longer than four hours at a time," Harris continued. "And we don't have the staff to spare. The requirements were for twenty-five of you. We've only got eighteen. Six per shift, that's it." Time for the next bomb. "And we're down two."

Silence filled the room. "Who?" Hob found his lips moving automatically, the question coming out of his mouth before he even realized it.

"Jean-Paul on Second Shift," the middle aged officer informed them sadly. Shaking her head, she set the clipboard aside. "Multiple-personalities. There were so many Ghosts running around, it was next to impossible to get to work. Amber from the First Watch Port had to be revived to fill in for him and clear out the echoes. Only she's not compatible with the rest of Jean-Paul's team. We almost lost life-support in Section Three before we pulled her, and pulling her without warning caused Sung Pak to go into a fugue. Total lock up. Psyche is trying to find a way to reboot him. The rest of the Second Shift's watches had to alternate double shifts. We're combing the databases to see if there's anyone we missed, anyone who meets the qualifications that we can recruit to replace them but-"

Hob already knew where this was going. He may not have been the brightest of the neuro-techs, but the artist was pretty quick on the uptake. "All the candidates so far are kids, aren't they?" The silence that followed confirmed it. The neuro-techs were an odd lot, with tons of unbridled imagination across a wide spectrum of fields and the only thing that could match it would be the curiosity of a child. None of the team would stand for that, not a single one would subject a child to the mental trauma being synched with both the computer and the others entailed. Unless someone popped up out of nowhere...

"Well... that tears it," hob sighed. He stood up, and more for Harris's benefit than anything else he turned to face the two teams. "Right, so... Show time. From one coffin to another, folks. Let's get suited up." That was more of a joke than anything. None of them had any clothing of their own save what they had originally been recruited in; after that, their closets were filled with nothing but the same rust colored jumpsuits that bore no insignia, only an olive green patch with their name. Who needed patches and decorations on their uniforms when they had silver disks shining upon their temples, after all? 

Annette nodded as the rest rose up with him. "One hour to synch us all up? Your team want the honor of taking first watch?"

As one, Hob and his team nodded. "I assume it's the same, Harris?" he addressed the briefing officer. "One of the Second comes out, one of us goes in? That hasn't changed?"

"Yes. No other changes. But I do need to speak with you before you go, Hob. Privately."

Hob closed his eyes and sighed. He had no idea what the officer was going to say, but he was fairly sure it was going to be bad news. It was as a bad as a teacher telling a student to stay after class. With sympathetic glances, the rest of the techs departed to leave him alone with Harris. Shaking his head, Hob glanced up at her darkly. "What now?"

Harris pursed her lips, considering how to best phrase her concerns. Finally she shrugged. "You left a few Ghosts in the system."

"Aaaaand?"

"Do the phrases 'Nice rack', 'I'd jump that suit', or 'Bang Away, Lulu' ring a bell, Mr. Bach?" Harris picked up the table again and stared hard at it. "Which according to our database, the latter of which does have naval origins, which speaks well of your historical knowledge if not your ability to censor yourself." That hard look came up to meet his eyes firmly. "Ghosts born of baser instincts are harder to clear out, Hob, and you're not helping anyone when you let those thoughts out freely."

The chewing out lasted for several more moments before a disgruntled and chastened Hob left the office to find the rest of the Starboard Watch waiting for him. Yuriko raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Bang Away Lulu, again?" Charlie chuckled.

Hob could only shrug despondently. "It's not easy trying to write a love poetry, you know. Too many thoughts get tied up in it, hard to separate it all out. One thing leads to another and... you know. Could have been worse."

"Worse?" Charlie choked in laughter.

"Sure," Hob smiled sadly, "Could have been 'Aboard the Good Ship Venus."