TEST DRIVE #2 - The Holodeck/Ten Forward

[tenforward_m]

Where were you a minute ago? Well, you aren't there anymore. Instead, you're standing in a very large, dark room lined with yellow. There are doors at either end of it.

Here's where things get a little choose your own adventure-y. You could:



1: Approach a console filled with buttons, located a few feet away. Press one, and it'll let you out of the room. Travel down a long hallway and you'll be in Ten Forward, the Enterprises' entertainment lounge. Have a drink, mingle and try to figure out why you're here.

OR

2: Maybe you just muttered some vague request under your breath. Maybe you wished aloud you were somewhere else. Or for help? If you did, might be in a fire station. Muttered something about killing whoever dumped you here? Surprise - you're in a slasher movie!

Though they're confusing, these visions feel about as real as they can be. And guess what - other people can experience those fantasies with you, as if they too were really there. How ever will you escape? Or do you want to?

[OOC: Welcome to the Holodeck! If you choose this option, whatever your character chooses to say out loud will cause a virtual reality program to load and play. While your character feels as if what they're experiencing and seeing is quite real, they're purely living through the latest and best in what he Enterprise has to offer in entertainment. Make sure to detail what your character's fantasy is, so that those threading with them will know how to react.

Open til next month's test drive!]

Comments

Jonathan Archer | Star Trek: Enterprise | Holodeck

[spacefaring]

Any sensible ensign would have kept their mouth firmly shut, but then, any sensible ensign wasn't necessarily one Wesley Crusher, whose incorrigible desire to please anyone who sufficiently dazzled him resulted in chaos no matter where he went.

Archer had proven sufficiently dazzling in any event, and in this case the chaos he had left behind was one holodeck program, a full scale replica of the NX-1, complete with histories two hundred years old reconstructed from personnel records, psych reports and the many incomplete and fragmented logs that Archer and his crew had recorded. The ship was a good facsimile, of course; the people? Ghoulish copies of friends he had once known, some who were long dead, and others from which he had been snatched in their hour of victory by Q, an entity who had as so far ignored his entreaties to thin air and personal willingness to strike a bargain. He liked Starfleet's rules and regulations, they were good directives, but they weren't his - not yet - and he'd be damned if he got stuck here for no reason other than Starfleet inflexibility.

Still, any sensible ensign would have steered him away from any flimsy doppelganger of home, knowing what a final blow it would be to the bruises he'd taken so far. It wasn't as though he wasn't used to being whipped around through time--that wasn't the problem--but this Enterprise wasn't his ship. She was big beyond any comprehension, buzzing with life, dozens of different species of aliens, and very few he recognized. She was full of families and bristling with weapons, broke warp nine, had holodecks... There were miles of Jefferies tubes--miles of them, what was with that?! She was out of his league. A few minutes in the twenty ninth century couldn't come close to delivering the shell shock that several weeks on the Enterprise had done to him.

It had taken several wary attempts for Archer to trust a single holomatrix was 'real', or at least real enough to respond to his touch, but by the time he'd deleted the characters and toured the whole ship, he fell into the Captain's chair without even thinking about it twice--it felt so natural. It felt so safe.

This should all make him feel so proud, to be a part of it, to be remembered, honored. Without him, none of this would have happened, or at least not by now. Why, then, did he feel so very alone?

Re: Jonathan Archer | Star Trek: Enterprise | Holodeck

[writes_with_digital_ink]

Here, Archer, have some company. And this Orion is even wearing a few more layers than the pirates.

(Not her uniform. She was a cadet from a different version of reality altogether, and who knows what she is here. So a deep purple tunic over orange pants pants it is.)

"An old starship?" she asks, walking onto the bridge and trailing her fingers over a computer.

[spacefaring]

Gaila startles him, after all with all the characters turned off, only the gentle hum of holographic engines have been keeping him company until now. Anyone would have spooked him, given that, but an Orion woman in particular--well, only the appearance of a Klingon or a reptilian Xindi could have given him more of a fright. All three, he was told, made up elements of this Enterprise's crew; it was difficult to believe until you saw it with your own eyes.

But Archer is not anything if not quick. Though he stands abruptly, surprised, he gathers himself within the beat of a second, and ducks his head by way of apology. He doesn't linger on his uncertainty the way he might have years ago, nor is he so quick to judge as he once was. One of his closest friends is an Andorian, his First Officer a Vulcan, his doctor, a man he'd trust with his beagle's life nevermind his own, a Denobulan; xenophobia can't be a word in a starship captain's lexicon.

"Not any old starship." Smiling, his tone conversational, he takes several steps toward her, puts his hands into his pockets--that's another thing wrong with the 24th century: no pockets. "She's the NX-01. They don't make them like this any more."

[writes_with_digital_ink]

Despite the distinctive - but not exactly unpleasant - smell that is characteristic of all Orions, there's no pulling allure: Gaila is merely curious, not trying to seduce.

His initial reaction made her stiffen, but the wariness fades at the silent apology, and she gives him a quick smile.

"I've read about the NX-class ships and actually I've been on one, but it was a museum piece. And I guess if you're feeling nostalgic then you might as well choose the first Enterprise."

Her accent is American, speech fast.

[spacefaring]

He catches on quickly, eases down into something approaching an honest smile, growing more comfortable by the moment, but still wielding the necessarily caution due considering his previous experiences with Orions. Caution, but not fear. He approaches the console she's standing beside, his hand falling on it as he circles about to the other side.

"Museum tours and holograms aren't really the same. They fix everything up, paint it all good as new. You don't run the Oregon trail without breaking a few wagon wheels." His eyes raise from the console as he speaks, meeting her gaze - still cautious, but warm none the less. It's honestly refreshing not to be instantly recognized, so he's going to keep rolling with it for now.

"It's still pretty impressive--a ship inside a ship." Then, with more confidence than he felt: "Computer, adjust holodeck parameters: viewscreen full, establish Earth orbit, 30 degrees inclination with dawn just breaking on the North American west coast." The computer responded, the viewscreen filled, black and yellow, green and blue, a swirl of white and gray curling south.

[writes_with_digital_ink]

She was about to reply to his observations (she has, after all, seen a lot of museums who try to present things as 'real', and showing the wear) when he asks the view to change. She sighs, a little, her expression turning wistful and sad. Homesick.

"Impressive. But...Dangerous. It's so real and then you can program anything you want, why would people go back outside, you know?"

Gods Above and Below, she doesn't want to think about any games involving dancing girls. Maybe that shows in her face, before she resolutely smooths it away.

"What's the Oregon trail?"

[spacefaring]

He turns to face the screen himself, then glances toward Gaila, reading the familiar expression. Home, or it would be if the Captain's chair still rattled over warp four--that's mostly what he's sore about. It's the little things.

"It may look like home, but in the end it's just forcefields and light." But it is dangerous, she's right. Technology develops quickly, and what happens next? Photonic people? Photonic rights? Holodeck inspired psychoses? Photonic ships with photonic crews?

But this is a question he can answer. "The Oregon trail was the route taken by emigrants populating the west coast of North America. Two thousand two hundred miles, crossing mountains and rivers--wild country, and dangerous. A new and exciting frontier. Like space in the 22nd century."

[writes_with_digital_ink]

"Twenty-third century for me. Still really exciting. Wouldn't call it new exactly, but my people have been spacesailing a lot longer than you guys." Her smile is a tease, but a mild one. See how he reacts.

"And you're right. I mean not about the new thing because honestly, space is...ancient. Just with new things for us."

[spacefaring]

It's the first part that really catches his attention. Archer perks up visibly, his gaze no longer torn away by the blue marble in the viewscreen.

"So this isn't your time period either? The twenty-third century is a lot closer to home for me than the twenty-forth."

Maybe he's put it off for long enough.

"This--ah, this is home for me. Earth, yes, but also the Enterprise. She's my ship."

[writes_with_digital_ink]

"Oh no, I'm from 2258-"

Wait.

The original Enterprise.

That nagging sense of vague familiarity.

Captain's chair.

"Ohshit, Admiral Archer, sir! Um, sorry, I didn't...work that out."

[spacefaring]

It isn't the first time he's inspired this kind of response; he's still unsettled by it, nevermind that he's become used to it. He'd known he was making history, he'd just never expected he'd have to sign quite so many autographs.

"At ease. To tell the truth I didn't mind not being recognized for once. This is the first conversation that I've had that hasn't started with a teeth-rattling handshake." He smiles again. "It was nice."

"You grew up on Earth?" A very uncertain sounding observation, very gently trying to lift the focus away from himself.

[writes_with_digital_ink]

She looks dubious, and then nods. She understands a little of what's like to be not recognised, even if her case is a bit different.

"If you insist, sir. I'm Gaila betIlley, Cadet at Starfleet Academy. Or...I was. You know. Time-travel. Uh...Um. Kinda."

Right. Focus.

"I'm originally from the Orion system. But I got out nine years ago, and my Human foster-parents raised me after that. In New York."

[spacefaring]

"Nothing on San Francisco, but still a beautiful city."

He settles down in the pilot's seat, trying to make little effort to foster that feeling of ease. It isn't natural--talking to an Admiral rarely is, but it's worth a try.

"You're still Cadet betIlley. I doubt even Captain Picard would argue with that." Archer didn't have a read on Picard yet, but his gut instinct grounded somewhere between cautious and argumentative. Still, with more than a thousand people on his ship, and Q's interference besides, a captain couldn't be expected to be on close terms with every one of them.

"What field are you studying in?"

[writes_with_digital_ink]

Gaila thinks, very briefly, about further clarifying that she's not just in the wrong time, but also the wrong universe all together. Very briefly. She does not feel like explaining the temporal havoc and carnage caused by a group of exceedingly pissed off Romulans, nor explaining what happened to her ship of all but a few hours.

So she just bobs her head in a non-argument, and carefully takes the nearest seat.

"Computer programming, with a minor in engineering. My interest is the more theoretical side, but I thought I'd gain some practical experience in operations first."

This time, she grins.

"I'll say this for the future, sir. Catching up on all advances in my field has been fascinating."

[spacefaring]

Well it's very fortunate she doesn't choose to go into it, really, because then Archer might have to voice his own understanding, and the understanding would require an explanation as to how he understood concepts like time travel, alternate universes and alternative timelines, and getting into the realms of temporal directives and time agents and getting stuck in World War II among other things would just give him a headache. It's easier this way.

"Ops is a very challenging station. Resourcing all the power we don't have to bolster the shields, finding new innovative ways to scan for alien ships in gas clouds on the spot--you have to be able to think on your feet." He's grinning too. "Is that what you'd like to do, in the end, or is your heart in some other project?"

[writes_with_digital_ink]

The universe (or multiverse) owes them at least one very stiff drink.

"I'm not sure yet, sir." This is what is known as 'a lie'. She knows exactly where her heart is set. There is just the tiny problem of cultural conditioning of being raised as an asset who had always had to have an eye on the easily applicable and financially viable i.e. not to bury herself in design and pushing the edges of theory. She's made progress; there's still a long way to go.

"But it's the best basis for understanding how things actually work before you start breaking all the rules. And it's a hell of an adrenaline kick."

[tea_earlgrey_hot]

[ooc: Are you still accepting new threads? I was away last week, but I would absolutely love to have these two interact.]

[spacefaring]

[ ooc: definitely open for new threads! I'm planning on putting a reserve down on him when they open, too. ]

[tea_earlgrey_hot]

[ooc: Oh, huzzah! I'm so thrilled to hear that!! ^__^]


There is a quiet hush indicating the doors are opening, and suddenly Archer is no longer alone.

"Should I have cause for worry?" asks the starship captain, once he has taken stock of the room. He arches an eyebrow at the man now assuming the captain's chair.

[spacefaring]

It takes him a moment to respond to both the question and Picard's presence, the briefest hesitation where he wonders if he ought to stand and announce "captain on the bridge" before he squashes the fancy. While it may look like it, this is no starship bridge, but Picard's presence does merit genuine acknowledgement. He does stand - a little more slowly - to face him; his inheritor by a couple of hundred generations. Not quite the kind of man he'd imagined him to be, but then this isn't quite the kind of ship he'd imagined either.

"Worry? Oh--about my aspirations?" It's more conversational he guesses, rather than real concern, but he's also well aware that captains from his generation and beyond had earned themselves reputations as reckless cowboys. Archer prefers to think of himself as a frontiersman, more explorer than plunderer, but had he been in Picard's position then he too might have been wary of having another captain on board, nevermind how confident he was in his crew's loyalty. "No... No, nothing to worry about. Just a little homesick, that's all."

ooc: and then I promptly fell off the face of the internet, I am SO sorry! D:

[tea_earlgrey_hot]

Picard offers him a small but sincere smile, holding out his hand to still his fellow captain.

"Please, don't feel it necessary to stand," he says, gesturing once again to the captain's chair. "I can imagine finding oneself on a Galaxy-class starship several centuries into the future would make anyone feel homesick. I hope the accommodations we've made available to you haven't fallen short of your expectations?"

He highly doubts the VIP suite Captain Archer was given plays into his feelings at all, but it bears asking if Picard is to consider himself a decent host. It's quite the honor having a man of Archer's reputation aboard the Enterprise-D.

ooc: it's fine! i've been building fences i know how easy uninterneting can be

[spacefaring]

"Still--"

He rises anyway. It's less a courtesy and more a reflection of discomfort. Now he's here, really sitting in his own Captain's chair with Picard standing over him, the chair represents makes him feel like he's on uneven ground, something that hadn't really been troubling him until exactly this moment. But he's always preferred standing on his bridge anyway, or moving about the ship poking his nose into everything that was happening. There was plenty of room to be still when he was dead, and apparently it was going to be a good long wait.

"You've more than outdone yourself, Captain. You didn't have to go out of your way--why, those quarters are bigger than our entire mess hall." He pauses for a moment. "Do you sleep in a room like that? I don't know what I'd do with all the space, myself." But Porthos would have loved it. Moreover the beagle would have enjoyed not being the only housepet on the ship. Probably yet another tradition he was responsible for perpetuating--he was losing count of those.

:3

[tea_earlgrey_hot]

He chuckles.

"It was no trouble, I assure you," he says. "Standard guest quarters are only slightly more modest. One of many differences between ships of your era and mine, I'm sure."

Since Captain Archer remains standing, Picard takes the opportunity to move through the room and observe some of those differences. He oftentimes wonders what it would have been like to be at the precipice of Starfleet's very beginnings, to see it grow to what it is now.

"I have had my fair share of cramped quarters as well," he adds, a touch wry. "Sometimes I find myself missing the room I had as an ensign. It was little more than a box that I shared with a fellow graduate, but it was my first real home after I left the academy. It's the memories we keep; the objects, well. They fade with time."

[spacefaring]

"It would be a shorter list to count the similarities."

And that was putting it lightly. There weren't a great deal of similarities. Even the warp engines were incomparable next to the engineering section of the Enterprise D. By contrast this ship's bridge is raw and practical. There are no soft edges and plush seats, nor wasted space, everyone worked elbow to elbow with everyone else.

"Still, I bet those rooms at the academy are still just the way you remember them. Four walls, washbasin, bunk and a desk--everything you need, none of the trimmings." Simplicity. And it was never lonely living like that. Archer's own experiences in proterozoic Starfleet had never been those of a lonely man, and his captaincy hadn't been much different; it had been a vibrant and active experience.

Archer ran his hand almost affectionately across the back of the captain's chair.

"It's hard to imagine you as a cadet. You sure you weren't brought into the world fully grown?"

[tea_earlgrey_hot]

"Yes, indeed," he muses, thinking back on the academy. He smiles, shaking his head. "That is very much the same. Along with the simplicity, there is far less privacy. I'm sure it was similar in your youth; shared quarters, tight living spaces, forcing you to share bonds and form relationships with your fellow cadets. It instills a need for cooperation and reliance early on. I still keep in contact with many of the officers I knew then. Those bonds are perhaps the strongest of any I've formed in my career, prior to my assignment as captain of this ship."

He looks distinctly amused. "I hate to disappoint you, but at one time I was as green as the next graduate. I must say the feeling is mutual, however. Seeing you at home in this environment, it's hard to imagine anything else."