Sightseeing

Posted on Fri Jan 11th, 2019 @ 5:24pm by Lieutenant Commander Mnhei'sahe Dox & Commander Rita Paris & Lieutenant Asa Dael

Mission: Section 31-B
Location: USS Hera, Deck 11, Holodeck 7
Timeline: TBD
Tags: Holodeck

The request had been made, and it had been established that the request was actually serious. So since it was easily granted through the miracle of 24th century holography, Commander Rita Paris found herself standing in the black room with a safety yellow grid pattern on the bulkheads, deck and overhead. Beside her were one Lieutenant Melanie Dox, the Hera’s resident Romulan pilot, and Lieutenant JG Asa Dael, the ship’s surgeon.

“So you want a tour of the old girl, eh? The Constitution class?” The anachronistic astronaut who been slung out of that time period only months before shook her head and smiled. “What used to be my daily life is now historical tourism. That doesn’t make me feel old,” Rita Paris joked good-naturedly.

While she was physically only in her early thirties, chronologically speaking the time-tossed temptress was 163 years old, as she had been born in 2233, yet here she stood, bigger than life. Prone to freak transporter accidents, her latest incident had hurled her through space, time and dimension to be captured by the warp field of the Hera, then reassembled once more. Recognizing that her pioneer spirit and optimism might just serve the Hera well, Captain Telvan had recruited the curvaceous chrononaught to be her first officer. The love she'd been torn away from had pursued her through space and time once she sent him a clue as to her whereabouts. Now they both lived happily ever after, in the final days of the 24th century.

Which was why she found it odd that the ship's pilot and ship's physician wanted to go sightseeing in the good old days.

Standing between her friends and fellow crewmates, Melanie Dox smiled as broadly as her chubby cheeks allowed. It was an expression that was coming to her with greater ease these days, having worked hard to overcome long-standing issues with her Romulan heritage. "Well, we jog on the projection of the exterior of her hull once a week, Commander. I can't help that I'm curious to see her through your eyes."

It was not all that long ago now that the young pilot had learned that when she was a child, her human father had had her surgically and genetically altered to appear more human. But thanks to DNA therapy and restorative treatments, the physical damage had been undone, though the perpetually anxious young woman was still getting used to the restored green blood and freshly pointed ears that were the result. "If you want, I'll give you a tour of the ryakna plaerre of a freighter I grew up on."

"Sorry... 'Garbage Scow'." Dox chucked, slightly embarrassed as she had accidentally slipped into speaking Rihan, her native Romulan tongue, a habit she was finding herself doing more and more.

"You want to wear the minidress too, Miss Dox, get the full experience?" Rita teased gently, knowing that the body-conscious redhead with the stout midsection was highly unlikely to be seeking that particular experience.

Standing in her standard Starfleet uniform that the rotund young part-Romulan felt uncomfortable enough half the time in the sea of red that was her tunic, Dox looked up at Paris with a wry smirk. Her once nervous demeanor around her First Officer had melted away the closer they became as friends, and when they were off-duty, Dox was finding it very easy to just be herself.

"It's a tour of the ship, not my lumpy knees." Dox chucked slightly as she spoke. "You are relentless. We... don't have to dress up for this, do we? It's not like the ship is going to have interactive characters."

"No, of course not. In the modern day when I wore it, the first question, whether they asked it or not, was 'That's not the uniform of the day, is it? I don't have to wear THAT, do I?' I get it- the old minidress is an acquired taste, sexist as hell and does leave one a bit vulnerable if you aren't exactly used to wearing her." Clad in her old uniform, the gold stretchy velour uniform clung to her abundant curves and just thoroughly flattered Rita Paris- but then, so would a potato sack.

"Oh heck, it's just us three, I'll wear one if you will, Melanie," Doctor Dael chimed in. The young doctor's androgynous features and complete lack of a gender would make it a somewhat odd proposition, but the doctor was comfortable with their two friends here. Besides, it might be fun to get out of pants for a while. Who knows, maybe the dress wearers were on to something. "Well, as long as it has pockets. It has pockets, right Rita?"

“Ah, no,” Rita admitted. “There’s a slit that can be used to holster a phaser on the right hip, and on the right dorsal there’s another slit made to accommodate the old communicators, but, ah,” Rita blushed a bit then stuck out her prodigious and abundant bosom. “Back in the old days, we gals tended to use our brassieres as pockets in this uniform.”

"See, no pockets." Dox put her hands in the pockets of her uniform pants in a somewhat exaggerated gesture for humor's sake. "Pockets are wonderful. I love pockets." She grinned with an expression of fake indignation. "Now you're tag teaming me to get me into a skirt. It's hardly fair, but I'm fine in my regular uniform."

“I don’t do peer pressure, Miss Dox. You are welcome to try it if you like, but we’re not ‘ganging up’ on you. You are more than welcome to explore in your own uniform,” Paris replied, thawing as she spoke. “We’re not on a time travel mission where we have to blend in. I wasn’t even planning to have crew on board for the tour, as the corridors are a little tighter than you might be accustomed, and the rooms are certainly smaller.”

Blushing slightly, which was now a decidedly greener affair for the young Pilot, Dox was fairly certain Rita knew she was kidding, but still insecure about her body. As such, she appreciated the reassurance.

“Which leads me to my next question- there were a dozen Constitution class heavy cruiser vessels that served in the five-year mission era between 2255 and 2271. Some are legendary, some are infamous and some were not terribly noteworthy. Which would you prefer to see?” It was a rhetorical question to Rita’s mind, as she was certain her sightseers would of course want to see Kirk’s Enterprise, the original 1701. The most famous of all the Constitution class vessels, she survived to make it to the refit era, and wrought technological advancements that influenced Starfleet for decades to come.

This was a question that Dox has already been expecting, and had thoughts about. "Every day I sit and look at a model of the refit of the Exeter. I think I would really see what she looked like for real on the inside. Asa?" Dox has the model of the ship that Rita Paris had left there when she passed the Flight Control Office to the young woman and she regularly imagined her First Officer standing on the bridge of that miniature giving her advice on the job, thought she had no plans of admitting to that at the moment.

“Well… truth be told, you have to remember, I’m from an alternate universe,” Paris admitted somewhat sheepishly. “The closest to my version of the Exeter on which I served, at least in this reality, appears to be the Ambassador class, and there was never an Exeter in that line. Since the refit model is closer to what I served on, I parked it on my old desk. If you want to go back to the minidress era though, that would be the original Constitution class. Sorry… alternate timeline problems.”

"Yeah, I'd say the original Constitution Class version, for sure." Dox replied enthusiastically. She had seen recreations in the Academy and plenty of ship recordings of the era, but she really wanted to see that era through Rita Paris' eyes.

“Okay, that settles the era and the model. Have a ship in particular you'd like to tour? We can call up the Exeter under Ronald Tracey, or the Lexington under Wesley, the Excalibur under Johnson, the Constitution under Jeffries… or the Enterprise under Kirk. Your call- I served on a few of them, and I know my way around all of them,” Rita offered, trying to give her modern friends seeking a glimpse into the past an opportunity to see what interested them, instead of what she chose to show them. “While they were ideally very similar, each starship had her own quirks and unique elements.”

Looking over to Doctor Dael, Dox smiled. "Still voting for the Exeter. What do you think, Asa?"

"Um, Exeter, sure! And I do want a minidress. I'll never be brave enough to wear one outside of here, and it might be fun....even if it is sadly lacking in pockets. It will be fun to play doctor with you two in the Sickbay!" the doctor enthused.

A bemused smile graced the face of the forward first officer, before she looked to the overhead. “Computer, if you please, I would like a full scale reproduction of the bridge interior of the USS Exeter, circa 2265. We plan to take a tour, so if you would be so kind, have the rest of the deckplan available for us to explore the starship. Thank you.”

With those words said, the black and yellow gridwork pattern of the stark walls of the holodeck faded to the much brighter colors of a bygone age, with a starship bridge vaguely reminiscent of the one with which the young officers were familiar, while it was a wave of nostalgia to Rita Paris. Pale blue was the predominant color of the bulkheads, while the deck was covered with a durable brown tight-weave felt designed to give traction. The upper bridge was separated from the lower bridge, the upper stations versus the battle bridge. In the center sat the captain’s chair, black upholstery with white formica composing the chair, while buttons and rocker switches adorned the armrests.

The seats for the forward stations, as well as the upper stations were white plastic with small black upholstered pads on swivel chairs that very much reflected the era from which they had come. The angled panels on the bulkheads were all black formica with blinking lights, knobs and rocker switches that looked somehow ill-suited to the operation of a starship. Meanwhile the upper bulkhead where the top of the bridge angled had screens tuned to starscapes rather than relevant data. It was stylish, to be fair, if dysfunctional.

As for the woman who had lived on this bridge, lived and fought and cheated death, her eyes misted over as she took it all in. As the steady sounds of the bridge operations began, their whirring and humming and pinging so much louder than their modern equivalents, Rita Paris became lost in memory- caught up in the sights and sounds of where she had come from, and where she still belonged.

Even though this was technically not Rita Paris' Exeter, Melanie noticed the emotions dancing across Paris' face and Immediately became concerned that her choice had been a mistake. But this had happened when the two women first jogged on the holographic representation of the exterior of the same ship, and Dox knew Rita just needed a moment to take it all in. So she smiled knowingly at Paris and tried to give her friend a little time.

Moving slowly, as if sleepwalking, the lost navigator traced her fingers along the orange rail that separated the battle bridge from the upper stations before stepping down to the battle bridge. Those probing fingertips slid across the console of the navigator station, turning the chair as if she’d done it a thousand times and slowly settling her rounded rear into it. Turning to face the station, she was struck by a wave of homesickness. It wasn’t her Exeter, it wasn’t quite how she remembered it. But it felt so much like home that she couldn’t help but be swept away by it, as her brow furrowed and her eyes shone with restrained tears.

Fingertips lightly dancing across the panel, she knew every keystroke, every rocker switch, every pushbutton. There was no mystery for her here, no confusion of encountering an interface she’d never seen before and had to struggle to comprehend. It was simpler, easier... uncomplicated. It was who she’d been and the life she’d led, and seeing it all like this struck her, reminding her just how out of place she truly was in this far flung future. Where the only way she could visit what had been her life was through technological illusion, that was as alien to her understanding as the incredibly advanced starship upon which she served.

Stepping over to the helm, Dox slid into the seat to look over the now antiquated console that nevertheless wasn't that foreign to her, having grown up on a dilapidated old freighter. Switches and rigid buttons were not that much of a shock even if the design was significantly more simplistic than anything she had flown before.

"There's impulse control... Maneuvering thruster control... Switches for warp speed control. It's all here." Flipping a small panel on her left, Dox smiled. "Ohh, is this targeting? The structural technology is basically the same. Plus we'd get to sit next to each other." Dox smiled over at Rita, hoping to focus on the similarities.

Called back from her reverie, Paris struggled to reorient herself, looking around and blinking rapidly until she refocused, first on Dox, then on Doc. This wasn't real. It wasn't her ship. This was just a museum display now, antiquated and outdated and barely recognizable by later generations. The two officers she had brought here to play tour guide were here, in their modern uniforms, waiting for their first officer to return to reality. Way to inspire confidence, Rita.

"I... uh... sorry, I..." she began, not looking at her friends, but running her fingers along the angled silver wide, tall and flat control panel with the gentle affection of a lover's caress. "I didn't think it would be so close, you know? This was... this was my life, and it wasn't that long ago. I mean, it was now, but... not for me, it wasn't."

"You're allowed, Rita. You lost so much that was taken from you and you're entitled to miss it as much as you want." Melanie smiled, feeling emotional herself for her friend, while choosing to eschew rank for the moment, as they were off duty and among friends. "But I also can't help being glad you're here. And if you'll forgive my being greedy, our universe and time is much better off now, right Asa?"

"Yes indeed," the doctor replied enthusiastically, "Heck, I'd probably have been dead on Meroset if you weren't here...assuming I wasn't still serving under that joke of a CMO that preceded me. Honestly, the fact he didn't plan ahead for everyone's health...." Asa trailed off, silently fuming.

Remembering the goal of the mission, Asa put a smile on their face and continued, "Well, you may both know all about this ship and type, but I'm at sea. The closest I have seen to some of these terminals were the classroom training modules used growing up. I'mma go poke a button."

That said, the doctor skipped over to communications, fiddling around for a moment then sitting down and pressing the correct sequence of buttons to signal a ship-wide intercom announcement, "All hands, brace for pleather seats! All hands brace for pleather seats!" the diminutive doctor said with a playful smile.

A thick chest laugh cracked out of Melanie Dox at the Doctor's joke. The usually hyper-anxious pilot found Asa Dael's energy completely infectious and a joy to be around and couldn't help bet relax just that much more. She smiled over to Paris, hoping it might have a similar effect.

It was all that was needed for Rita Paris to shake off her sad reverie and return to the moment where her friends, the friends she had made here in the distant future so far from her origins, welcomed and encouraged her. Blushing as she giggled at the young physician’s jocularity, the Starfleet siren turned to face them both, knees tightly welded together as was her habit in the seat on the bridge she knew so well.

“Thanks, you two… I know I get a little melancholy and sentimental about the past, but I’m… I’m here. I have my assignment, I have a good captain, a good ship and a good crew here working with me. And I have good friends,” Rita smiled warmly at the two brave souls who’d taken the time to get to know her and liked her for who she was, “Old fashioned I may be, but friends like you remind me that not everything has changed. Marie Adler used to sit at that station, Asa, and Lieutenant Ilya sat where you’re at, Melanie. Well, until she was called away to the Enterprise and I ended up piloting and navigating and firing the weapons and managing the shields all at the same time. So, what would you like to see first, or would you like for me to take you on a tour of the bridge stations?

As she spoke, it was visible that the time-tossed temptress’ mercurial mood was stabilizing once more into the cheerful, outgoing sailor of the stars that her cohort knew well. Rather than the distracted displaced damsel to which she sometimes defaulted, when faced with her faraway existence a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.

Happy to see her friend feeling a little better, Melanie looked around the replica of the antique vessel's bridge with a smile. "I would like to see it all, Commander. I'm not picky about the order. What about you, Doctor? Sickbay?"

The siren-like red alert blared across the bridge, practically a shriek to the 24th century natives. As the trio of officers looked around in confusion, the uniforms of Melanie Dox and Asa Dael rewove themselves through either holographics or replication into the same minidress uniform their blast from the past commander sported.

The redhead was no longer in command red, but now sat in a fitted stretch velour minidress out of her nightmares in mustard gold. Meanwhile at the comms station, the adrogyne found themselves in a tailored minidress as well. Only it was not medical teal, but bright crimson.

Tugging at the material and staring down in surprise, Asa stood up quickly, noticing the breeze on their legs and turned in a confused circle, then staring at the other two exclaimed, "I'm a redshirt? Um, Rita isn't that super bad here? I swear I remember you said something about that ..."

"Imirrhlhhse! What's going on?!" Looking down at her ample middle pressing taunt against the gold velour, she slammed her knees together in shock as she continued to shout Rihan profanities. "Imirrhlhhse! Hnave! Commander, what's..."

Looking over, Dox noticed a similarly surprised look on Rita Paris' face and realized something was wrong on the Holodeck.

That's when holographic personnel suddenly fazed into holographic life, and Rita Paris heard a voice she'd last heard on Talok IV... where they'd left him.

"Raise shields, Lieutenant Paris!" barked Captain Ronald Tracey, the tall, solidly-built silver-haired captain in command gold. "Didn't you hear the red alert, or were you daydreaming again? Helm, come about 123 degrees, mark 18, full impulse. How many of them are out there, Mister Bhattacharyya? Miss Dael, contact Starfleet and tell them we're under attack by the Klingons. Miss Paris, if you've managed to raise the shields, have you achieved a targeting resolution?"

Fingers dancing lithely over the keyboard, Rita fell naturally into the scenario. The Klingons were running with shields down at the moment, and there was only one of them uncloaked right now. She gave the order to load fore and aft torpedoes, although she didn't have time to rig some mines, and she locked on with the forward phasers.

Still in a moment of shock, Dox watched Rita Paris slip into action with her plump jaw almost hitting the deck. Suddenly, she realized 'helm' was her and turning back towards the ancient console, Dox hesitantly hovered her fingers over the controls. With an expression of intense anxiety written across her face, she entered the instructions into the helm controls and sighed in relief as the viewscreen showed the ship had begun to move appropriately.

"Single target locked, shields down, phasers at full and torpedoes online, Captain. They're in range of the tractor beam if you're in the mood, captain." Rita Paris rattled it all off as she did what she'd always done- rise to the occasion.

Stunned, but playing their part, Asa sat down and stuck the communications headset into their ear, input what they believed to be the correct frequency and relayed the message. Turning to the holocaptain they replied, "Message sent, awaiting response Captain. "

Finger snapping one of the switches on the right armrest of his chair, the blue-eyed starship captain barked into the receiver. "Lieutenant Stuart, what's going on down there? Are we under attack from boarding parties?"

At that, Rita Paris' head snapped up, and she looked like she'd seen a ghost.

"In a way, sir. The Klingons beamed at least three large loads, full to capacity transporter pads worth of tribbles down here, Captain. They're all over the place, and they're spreading fast," came the voice from engineering, and the color drained from Rita Paris' face.

"Computer, pause scenario. Computer, arch," Rita Paris said quietly, her voice somehow louder as the red alert klaxon ended, the red lights still in effect and the symbol glowing to life in situation panels on the bridge. But the computer simulation continued unabated, and Paris exchanged meaningful glances with the others.

There was no pause. No arch appeared.

Tapping her comm badge, the reproduction of the starburst of the era, there was no accompanying chirp of response. Comms were cut off from the rest of the USS Hera.

They were trapped in a holodeck scenario that they hadn't engaged, in a simulation of 2265.