Motivational Analyzational
Posted on Mon Mar 11th, 2019 @ 8:52am by Lieutenant Samuel Clemens XV & Commander Rita Paris
Edited on on Mon Mar 11th, 2019 @ 4:52pm
Mission:
Gaia Reborn
Location: USS Hera, Deck E, Intel chief's office
Timeline: 2396
Risen titans who'd formed themselves out of dark matter and ionic energy was definitely not covered in any class in the 2255 curriculum. Fortunately, the science department would analyze all of that, and find some rhyme and reason. Right now, Commander Rita Paris was making her way aft so that she could catch the one turbolift that led to the Intel Pod, the classified sector of the ship that had restricted access for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which was the armory of exotic technologies.
One of those exotic technologies walked, talked, and proclaimed in a very blustery Missourian accent that the Earth girl still found quite charming.
Making her way to the chief intelligence officer's office, Rita braced herself for whatever the walrus-mustachioed chief spook might be up to this time, as she brought him a question she felt he might be uniquely qualified to answer.
The spook in question, meanwhile, was, indeed, up to something. He was at his workbench, his cybernetic arm in a diagnostic rig, pointing the index finger of his left hand at the aforementioned arm. The fingernail was glowing a brilliant orange, as it emitted a warbling sound.
Clemens was watching a holo-projection of the arm, with an overlay of data streaming from a mounted Starfleet Sciences tricorder, which was set to provide readings continually. As he worked the sonic probe, the readings from the arm and its thorium power cell slowly changed, bit by bit.
The chart was marked with a scale going from ORIGINAL to GOAL, in multiple categories, some of which were moving toward GOAL, a few of which were steady, near the middle, and others which seemed to be stubbornly-fixated at or near ORIGINAL.
The door chime rang, and the bushy-browed braniac glanced at the door scanner, which provided detailed information about the person outside. He quickly read through the details, noting that it said it was Commander Rita Paris, the ship's Executive Officer.
Being the paranoid bastard he was by nature, he looked at the quantum signature section. It checked out with Paris' unique cipher, unmistakeable, and, quite impossible to duplicate. Easy-peasy.
He called out to the computer, "Miss Cohmputah, would yuh please let th'Commanduh in?"
"My pleasure, Samuel." The door unsealed, and opened for one Rita Paris- Golden Girl of the USS Hera.
"Mister Clemens, it's good to see you up, about an looking more in one piece, so to speak. I'm sorry that I couldn't be there during your convalescence, but you know how it is- duty calls. I did bring you a present to make up for it, though." Holding out a colorful box, she produced an antique toy from behind her back. "Amazing what people will scan into a replicator. This is a toy of one of the earliest fictional cyborgs of Earth legend- astronaut Steve Austin. I thought it might tickle your fancy."
Sam was strapped into some sort of workframe, running tests on himself, apparently, but he grinned at Rita, and reached out to take the replica. "Why, thankyuh, C'manduh." He set it on his desk carefully, nodding toward his other arm.
"Ah'm jus' workin' on a lil' stealth project- tryin' t'git mah new pahts t'read a bit moah like...me." He gestured to to holo-display. "Ah'm adjustin' th'SIF t'generate a simulated bio-field...at least that's thuh plan."
"Seems quite plausible given modern science. A sensible plan, Lieutenant." Stepping in and looking around, the fulsome first officer shook her head. "You intel people and your prediliction for working in the dark, I will never understand. Well. I've come to you today because I've an unusual problem, Chief."
"We need to discern the motivation of a titan. An honest to goodness no kidding cosmic power. Who is up, awake, and terraforming entire worlds as if with a snap of her fingers. You up for the task?" You had to give the woman credit- when she was on the case, she didn't pussyfoot around.
The bushy brows went up, then furrowed down. "Now, lemme get sum clariteh- if'n ah r'call muh briefin's from Intel Command, them Titans're a whole 'nother level above th'gawds we've run across, right?" Clemens was looking a bit darker than normal- it was a familiar look.
It was the same mood he'd been in during the pre-mission briefing for Meroset.
{FLASHBACK: Meroset Pre-Briefing}
Up til now, Clemens had let them suss things out, but now, he spoke up, again.
"Friends'n naybuhs... ah'd like tuh make uh point.
...this 'goddess'..."
He pinched his nose between thumb and forefinger, closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them, his normally-jolly demeanor was a mixture of sadness, and cold calculus.
"...she's nawt sum slaver we kin jus' stomp in an' beat on 'til she squeals an' rolls ovuh, y'all." He'd been looking at the combat specialists in the room, but then turned his attention to the Counselor. "Norh is she sumwun who's likeleh t'lissen t'ev'n th'mohst skilled peacemakuh. She's got no reahsun tuh. She thinks weah bugs, n'she won' think twice 'bout meltin' ya brayn with tech powah'd by bat'trees thuh size uv stahship enjuns, aftah she rips evvrah sekrit outta yer haid." He shook his head.
"We gotta fight DUHHTY. She can't git wun HINT uv warnin'! Lissen to yer Chief uv Intel, hyeah.
"Awright. Ah'm dun, now." He sat down, wearily.
{Back In the Present}
"Mmmm hmmm. That's the one," Rita confirmed. "So, what I need is to divine the motivation so that we might find some way of convincing the terraforming titan not to roll over the Flintstones on her way to Trill. We've got three days til we reach encounter range, and we should have around 16 hours to figure out how she's terraforming planets. In the meanwhile, I need someone to determine her motivation, and how we might talk her out of this. Gaia's a cosmic being- I don't think this is going to be a problem solved by quantum torpedoes."
The ginger gambler pondered on the problem for a moment, and queried, "Izzat thuh same titan that got a piece of 'er stuck in owah holladeck?"
"Apparently so. If our compassion impressed her, we may find out. Unfortunately it's not something we can rely upon with any certainty as a strategy. I like where your head's at though, Chief. Okay, keep it coming," Paris encouraged the unconventional intelligence officer to elaborate on his impressions. "This is what I need, some grandiose spitballing."
The Man from Missouri shook his head. "Boss, ah' gotta say- this may be a problem uv scalin'. Until Hera got thuh wind knock'd outta 'er sails, she had not one whit uv int'rest in owah wants oah needs. If'n this titan is thuh real deal, she's gonna be sev'ruhl oahduh's ov magnitude olduh than Hera. An' based on huh sheeah size, yuh right- there ain't no weapon we could build that'd make huh even blink.
"No, no..." he started pacing. "If theah's s snowball's chance in hell, it's eithuh gonna be pretty tawk, oah flat out duhty deeds, done at some expense. An' thuh currency is likleh t'be nuthin we'll be happy 'bout." He turned, suddenly, facing his Executive Officer.
"We gotta git an inside ang'uhl. How much goodwill d'yuh reckon Miss Dawx built-up with thaht shahd she got outta thuh holladeck, y'think?"
"We're going to find out. And hopefully pretty talk and compassion can win the day. That doesn't mean we're not going in without a backup plan," Paris explained.
Clemens looked at the Golden Girl with a deadly calm. "Speakin' uv spitballin'...fuh my paht, ah'm offerin' t'link to th'ship's main cum'putuh via mah cybuhnetics, an' connect with Miss Dawx via whateveuh psionic linkage y'all devise- that oughta add some stability an' extra horsepowuh to this whole co'labboratshun. It'll give the Hera command staff thuh 'bility t'mohnituh thuh link."
"I have considerable reservations about that concept," Paris added. "I'd like to see some simulations of you connecting to the ship's computer in the manner that you are describing here, before we endanger both you and the ship's computer as well in such a scheme. However, it's likely to be the best way to introduce an alteration to one of the protomatter seeds she's firing out, to reprogram them before they leave her. That will be trying to use Miss Dox's link as our backdoor and the ship's computer to do all the hard math for the reprogramming, with you as the link between the two."
"With that in mind, get on that angle. Dig up everything you can on the original Genesis program and specifically, the programming. Carol and David Marcus programmed paradises into those devices, and if we can get her to at least not make worlds hostile to humanoid life, that's an step. Unless you think you can stop the effect entirely?" Paris put it out there, as she was curious which way the southern sidewinder would choose.
"If'n ah had muh druthuhs, an' ah def'nit'lee do, stoppin' thuh 'fect is thuh way t'go," he affirmed. "Syuh, syuh, it's nice when it's makin' a rawk inta uh paradise, but even thuh chance that she could be wipin' out life on that scale in a diff'runt locale just t'redecorate is in-tol-uh-ruh'bul!" He was clearly steamed at the casual way the titan seemed to be proceeding. He rubbed his eyes, and took a deep breath, and then added, "Of thuh two, shuttin' it down has uh highuh chance uh'werkin', 'cause it involves less movin' pahts, an' happens earleeuh in th'process."
"Gaia's still got a few more worlds before she hits an inhabited one, so don't for a moment imagine I wasn't bearing sentient life into the equation, Mister Clemens," the fulsome first officer explained with an arched brow. "But if you think you can disrupt the effect, then pursue that angle and prepare for it. That's officially plan 'B' if my patented pretty words don't succeed. Understood?" Paris knew she was no closer to divining Gaia's reasoning for seeding these worlds as she had. But when it came to the Intel chief, one took what one got more often than not.
"So get to work on it, and keep me apprised of progress, Chief."
Clemens nodded, adding an "Aye, ma'am," as he rubbed his eyes, and turned to his terminal, already muttering to himself about knowing "kung-fu".
~Fin?