Marooned

Posted on Mon May 28th, 2018 @ 2:14am by Commander Rita Paris
Edited on on Mon Aug 27th, 2018 @ 12:50am

Mission: Curing the Black Blood
Location: Sickbay
Timeline: 2395

The proper procedure was to electronically file the paperwork with the quartermaster to requisition any Starfleet materials one might need, from uniforms to rations. Procedure on a starship a hundred and twenty-seven years ago, that is. Catching one of the nurses, Paris asked to borrow a PaDD. The confused nurse demonstrated what a replicator was capable of by producing a PaDD for Rita, who thanked the nurse profusely.

Then when no one was looking, Paris hugged the slender surface dearly like an old friend. Starfleet still used tablets to work, which meant that something vitally important to her world had not changed. Although she strongly suspected this version likely had oodles more computing power, and could probably serve as a tricorder. Scanning the database, she started asking questions. And there were abundant answers to be found.

Logging in occurred via sensor confirmation of her finger swiping the surface, which caused Paris to eye the biobed. It had scanned her thoroughly, then uploaded the scan to the ship's computer which in turn could enable or deny her access based on her sensor reading, because the ship always knew where she was at all times, just like every other crewman. The sensors were always tuned to track every lifeform on board, she saw by following the chain of her line of inquiry. Rita was curious what the navigation sensors could do in this day and age, and was surprised to find that they still functioned fundamentally the same way, just with considerably greater ranges and subtleties.

The sensors were constantly blanketing the ship, and now the ship's computer had sufficient computing power to process, store and recall that information instantly. No more of that :::WORKING::: when you gave the computer a command. It just worked. So onboard the ship you could actually use the ship's sensors instead of a tricorder, and it was a casual thing. It didn't cause any appreciable dent in the starship's computing power or the operation of the sensors, which had a refresh rate so fast they were to most perceptions continuous. All of this was available to her in the ship's computer's explanations of processes and procedures. If Starfleet had gotten better at only one thing in over a hundred years, it was in their educational tools.

Were they on quacorders or octocorders by now, Rita wondered, then was relieved to find they were still called tricorders. It looked like the handheld models were the same basic concept with a few interesting new categories of scans and analysis, greater range and more compact. Idly, Paris wondered what phasers could do in this far-flung future dimension in which she found herself, but skipped investigating that for now.

Shedding her blanket, Rita Paris stood and took stock of herself. She wasn't wobbly on her feet, and was experiencing only a mild headache although some body aches persisted. Taking a few long stretches, Rita realized that soon she would need a shower and a change of clothes. That would be fun- the hideous dark jumpsuits that counted as uniforms made the crew look like the SS, and Rita really hated them with a passion.

It was an unusual ship. Maybe she'd be allowed to wear her own uniform if she asked permission. A 'special uniform exception' case. It would forever mark her as different, as an anachronism. But maybe that might not be such a bad thing in this dark future.

Making her way out of Sickbay, the golden-haired heroine tapped at the PaDD as she moved down the corridor into deck 12, glancing up to avoid passersby. Distracted, Paris ambled along, a far cry from her usual brisk military pace. Unable to resist, the anachronistic astronaut checked the files and procedures for helm operation then literally laughed out loud, drawing a few looks from passersby who were already curious about her uniform. The helm station and navigation were so automated the ship could fly itself. Wryly, she wondered if the pilots of the day considered themselves such or if they realized they were practically a glorified monorail attendant, pressing a button to plot a course then pushing a button to make the ship go.

Then there was that fascinating warning about accelerating to warp 10 in tight solar orbit, which led Rita to learn the rules of the Temporal Prime Directive. Which she was as of now quite willfully planning to violate as soon as she could get her hands on that Runabout the captain had mentioned sitting in the hangar bay. Which was a plan that was cooking along just fine until she noticed an addendum and followed a link. Whereupon she made a rather startling discovery.

The planet Vulcan was an active member of the Federation in the year 2395.

Not New Vulcan... the original planet. Vulcans were not an endangered species in this future. Their planet had not been destroyed by the time-traveling Nero and his vessel the Narada in 2258. In fact, there was no mention of Nero or the Narada, nor their encounter with the Kelvin, nor red matter. None of those facts that she knew as history had ever happened according to Starfleet Historical and Fedepedia.

Commander Sonak of Vulcan had died in the year 2273, of all things, in a transporter accident. He had died while beaming between Starfleet Command and his assignment aboard the USS Enterprise. It struck a pang of sadness in her to see his face and read of his death, particularly by transporter- the bane of Rita Paris' existence through all time and space.

But while this was Sonak of Vulcan, this was not her Sonak. There was no mention of him having served on the USS Exeter nor their service together under Captain Michael Stuart. In 2267 Captain Tracey led a landing party to the surface of Omega IV, but had not returned empowered. His crew all died of the contamination from the surface, including Lieutenant Stuart, the engineer who apparently led no mutiny against his mad captain but had been reduced to dust in the wind like the rest of the crew of the Exeter.

Since Stuart had never survived to recruit Sonak, the Vulcan had spent the majority of his Starfleet career as an instructor at Starfleet Command. He was kolinahr, but clearly not the last of his kind. This was a man who never lost his home planet, and never felt the need to connect with humanity as a wanderer amongst the stars. This Sonak had never met Rita Paris, and never chosen to bridge the gap between their species with mutual admiration, love and passion.

This history was not the personal experience of Rita Paris.

Ergo, logic dictated that this was not her native reality.

This was a timeline other than that which she knew. Even if she were able to steal that runabout and get to a solar orbit, even if she could manage the calculations and piloting to slingshot the tiny craft around a star in an attempt to hurl herself back through time to when she belonged... Paris would find no solace there. Like the Mirror Universe she had once before visited, this too was an alternate dimension where events had flowed similarly, but not precisely the same. And while she might or might not manage a mad dash back through time, the pretty pilot had no illusions about being able to breach the dimensions successfully, forget about blindly navigating to the right one. The one in which she belonged, where her life and love awaited her.

There had been some hope she'd been holding out that maybe, just maybe, if she were brave and clever and strong enough, Rita Paris might just escape this odd future into which she had been transported and was now a prisoner of sorts. After all, Sonak would never give up trying to find her- but now she knew that the solar flare activity and the ion storm, combined with the transporter malfunction that seemed to be her destiny, had swept her away from him and captured her with a casually efficient elegance.

Time she might have escaped, but Paris had become unglued not just chronally, but dimensionally as well. Hopeless situations with no way out were an unacceptable outcome on the USS Exeter. But with the additional wrinkle of dimensional travel thrown in for good measure, Paris was well and truly marooned.

Blonde brows furrowing, Paris pushed back the emotional tidal wave of tears that threatened to overwhelm her. Tears served no purpose here- now, she needed cool and calm logic to plot her course and make her decisions. Besides, she was an officer, and officers didn't wander the halls of their new assignment crying. It set a bad example for the crew, and eroded confidence in the leadership. Tapping at the PaDD in her hands, she found her destination, then located a turbolift. It seemed they still worked similarly- while you no longer needed to grab a handle, the rest of the lift operated as one would expect, just calling out the deck required. That computer was always listening, just waiting for a command.

Stepping off on deck 10, Paris made her way fore until she found the forward observation lounge, which was apparently a bar of some sort? Paris chuckled a bit at the idea, then made her way to an unoccupied table where she could stare out the large observation port and watch the stars slide by. In her mind and her heart, she reached out to him, though she could not feel him. But across the stars he had heard her and come for her, so once more she reached out for him, hoping against hope that he might hear her.

Goodbye, Sonak. I got well and truly lost this time, and even you won't be able to bring me back. I love you and I will always love you, but I can't hold out hope that you are going to rescue me. Not this time. I wish there were some way for me to at least let you know that I'm all right, but apparently Starfleet hasn't really mastered dimensional travel, even in 2395 where they know how to time travel. If I find a way back, I'll take it, I swear, and I'll come back to you. Finding my way home will always be my fondest desire. But for now, this is my life, and I have to live it.

A tear rolled down her cheek, followed by another and another as the Starfleet siren watched the stars slide by. You will always be my t'hy'la, my one. You will always hold my heart, and I will carry the part of you that is within me for the rest of my days... my mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts. I am lost to you, as you are to me. But I still have Starfleet, and I am still an officer. There will be need of me, for there will be trouble- chaos is a constant of the universe, as you said. Starships still need pilots, and good captains still need able officers. I will build a new life here in this strange future, and I will honor your memory in my heart.

But for now, I need to put you and my grief in the past, so that I will be able to get to work.

With that, the leggy lieutenant commander wiped away the residue of her tears, then pulled her PaDD in close, hugging it to her ample bosom briefly before folding it in by her side with practiced ease. Then she rose from her chair and took a deep breath, the sight of which caused a passing crewman to stumble over a chair. But she didn't notice, because she was already on the move.

Rita Paris had a lot of catching up to do, and damned if she wasn't going to get started. If there was one place she was going to find a lot of advances on a starship, it would be in engineering. So it was time to take a look around.

“Time to prove the fossil can be good for something after all,” Paris muttered to herself as she made her way to a turbolift.


Soundtrack: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iyIOl-s7JTU